


yule shoot your eye out

by heaveninbusan



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28294722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heaveninbusan/pseuds/heaveninbusan
Summary: “I said I kind of told my mom and Chaerin that you and I are dating.” Minho can’t look at him.“Oh my god, so you are in love with me!”Minho, panicking, whips his head around to look Jisung in the face. He sports a wide, shit-eating grin that Minho would very much like to knock off his face. The tips of Minho’s ears burn but he hopes his hair hides it.“I am not in love with you,” he growls through gritted teeth. “I just wanted my mom off my back. I also told her you were coming to the cabin for Christmas but don’t worry, you don’t have to.”“Oh no, I’m coming.”“You are not coming.”“I am absolutely without a doubt coming to the cabin for Christmas and you cannot stop me. I have the power of god and your mother on my side.”“You’re enjoying this way too much. It’s not happening.”“We’ll see, babe.”“Don’t call me that.”in which minho put his foot in his mouth and has to pretend to date his lifelong best friend lest he lose his money and his pride
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 89
Kudos: 595
Collections: SKZ Secret Santa 2020





	yule shoot your eye out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeongui](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeongui/gifts).



Minho warms his hands on the ceramic mug in front of him, steam drifting upward from the hot chocolate to warm the tip of his nose. The cafe around him is bustling with holiday shoppers, the bells over the doors jangling every few seconds to signal the arrival of new snow-covered customers kicking their boots on the welcome mat. Generic Christmas music plays over the loudspeaker and blinking rainbow lights decorate the windows and the massive tree in the corner. 

There are only two weeks left until Christmas and Minho wants to cling to the cozy warmth this season brings him. The snowball fights, the pine tree scents, the warm glow from a fireplace, the _food._ And not to mention the presents. This is Minho’s favorite time of year.

He feels a hand ruffling his hair, pulling him from his Christmas reverie. His little sister, Chaerin plops into the seat next to him, their mother right behind her. Their noses and cheeks are pink with cold as they strip off their scarves and gloves and hats. 

“Took you both long enough, I have to leave in a half hour for my next class,” he says. There’s no way he will openly admit how happy is to see them. 

“Yah,” Chaerin yells, slapping him on the shoulder. “Be grateful I even blessed you with my presence.” 

“I _am_ grateful for the periodic reminder that I got the good genes. Thank you.”

“ _Mom!”_

But their mother isn’t paying any attention to either of them, quietly sipping the latte Minho ordered for her while she taps away at her phone with her other hand. Minho’s mom is also a Christmas fanatic, but her type A personality means every holiday is a competitive sport for her. Today’s challenge? Finding the best last minute deals.

“Minho-yah,” his mom says absently, not even looking up from her screen. “Please don’t antagonize your sister.” She speaks in Korean, something that used to embarrass Minho, especially in school around almost exclusively English-speaking peers, but now he loves the language, loves that it connects him to his family and his friends on a deeper level.

But that doesn’t stop her words from being annoying.

Minho pouts, ready to fight back, but keeps his mouth shut instead. _It’s Christmas._

“Ha!” Chaerin jeers. 

“Shut _up,_ ” Minho grumbles back, punctuating his words with a kick to Chaerin’s shin.

“Minho-yah,” his mom says again, interrupting them. “When are you getting married?”

Minho nearly chokes on his own saliva as his mother looks up at him. Her face is bland, like she didn’t just say _that_ and maybe Minho would think he misheard her if Chaerin wasn’t doubled over, nearly falling out of her chair with laughter.

“Minho is never getting married.”

“Shut the hell up, Chaerin, my god.”

“I could set you up with someone, you know? You're not getting any younger.”

“I am 25,” Minho groans, head lolling down to stare into his almost empty mug.

“What about Chaerin?”

“Who’s going to marry her?” His mom laughs at her own words, pinching Chaerin’s cheek to show she’s teasing. “Be serious now. You know my neighbors, the Song family, they have a nice boy, your age.”

Minho suddenly hates Christmas. His cheeks burn and he doesn’t even need a mirror to know he’s glowing as bright red as Rudolph’s nose right now. His mom isn’t _always_ like this, but every once in a while she lays it on thick. 

Chaerin, next to him, snorts into her drink. “That family smells like soup. Please go on a date with him, please, I’m begging.”

“I’m not going on a date with anybody. Can we please drop this?”

Minho’s mom tuts at him, face drawing down into a frown. “But you must be so lonely. If you don’t like the Song boy, how about Jaehyun. I still talk to his mom sometimes, maybe you can rekindle the old flame.”

“Oh no, we are _not_ going there,” Minho pleads. He is _not_ talking about his ex with his mom and his sister right before he needs to head into work. 

“Well, it’s not as if you’re seeing anyone so I don’t see why you won’t take my advice.”

“Maybe I am!” He blurts it out before he can stop himself. 

His mom presses her lips into a thin line while Chaerin’s eyes bulge out of her face. “No way,” Chaerin says. “Who would date you?”

“A lot of people would date me, actually,” he snaps back. And it’s true. However, it _isn’t_ exactly true that he’s seeing any of them right now. 

Chaerin fake gags. “Disgusting. You’re not dating anyone, I’ve been to your apartment, it’s a hellscape. And besides you haven’t brought anyone around.”

“Can you blame me?” he asks, gesturing toward their mother. “And anyway, you already know him.”

Minho isn’t sure where the words come from but they’re out of his mouth unbidden before he can even think to shut the hell up. But this can be fine, right? It will get his mother off his case and he can go back to enjoying the holiday season as usual. 

“Well, who is it?” his mom asks.

“Jisung.” The name rolls off his tongue without even thinking about it.

Chaerin _and_ his mom both laugh.

“What the hell is so funny?” His cheeks are still aflame and he can feel the tips of his ears start to burn too.

“Jisung would never date you,” Chaerin laughs.

“Um, Jisung _would_ date me since he _is_ dating me.”

“You’re dating Jisung,” his mom says. It’s not a question, but a deadpan statement. Her expression is blocked off and Minho can’t tell if she believes him or not. “The little Han boy?”

“Oh my god.” Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, the little Han boy, my _best friend._ We’re dating.” 

“Okay, so bring him to the cabin for Christmas.”

Silence falls over the table. Minho can feel Chaerin next to him holding her breath. Their mom doesn’t believe him, it’s clear now from her smug smile and the way she crosses her arms over her chest. For some reason, this response and Chaerin’s laugh when he first said it, boils his blood. It’s like they don’t think he’s good enough for Jisung—whether he is or isn’t is up for debate but that’s none of their business.

“You know what? I will. And then you’ll see. And then you’ll stop trying to set me up with all your book club friends’ sons, yes?”

His mom bites her lip, thinly veiling her amusement. It’s clear she still doesn’t believe him and she’s willing to call his bluff all the way through. Minho has no idea what he’s doing, rising to the bait. And besides, he still has two weeks to think of a good cover story for why Jisung most certainly will _not_ be accompanying him to the cabin for this year’s holiday celebration.

“Fine,” Minho’s mom says, raising her hands in surrender. “If you say you’re dating Jisung, I believe you. I’ll leave it alone.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Chaerin says, mouth agape. “You don’t seriously believe this? Jisung would never—”

“Shut _up,_ Chaerin!” It’s Minho’s favorite phrase. 

Minho’s phone blares to life, buzzes across the laminated wood surface of the table. It’s his work alarm. “I have to go,” he says, snatching up the device before Chaerin can pick it up and examine the lock screen—a picture of himself and Jisung, actually. Maybe he should have let her have it.

“We can all drive up to the cabin together if you’d like,” his mom teases.

“Hard pass,” he laughs. He rises to shuffle back into his heavy padded coat. Outside, the snow is falling even heavier and faster than it had been less than an hour ago. He sighs, lamenting his five block walk to the dance studio. “Tell dad I said hi,” he says, leaning over to kiss his mom on the cheek. 

“And tell Jisung _we_ said hi,” Chaerin says with an annoying smirk on her face. Minho has the urge to hit her but he takes a deep breath. _It’s Christmas._

As he approaches the front doors of the dance studio, Minho’s phone chimes in his hand. It’s a message from his sister.

**Gremlin** : i bet a thousand dollars ur not dating jisung

 **Minho** : you don’t have a thousand dollars

**Gremlin** : shit ur right

 **Gremlin** : a hundred then

Minho sighs, looking up at the sky. He can’t tell if he’s honestly offended that they think Jisung wouldn’t date him or if he’s just annoyed at Chaerin’s persistence. But he’s nothing if not easily goaded and competitive, so he does the only thing he can think to do.

**Minho** : you know what 

**Minho** : you’re on

  
  


_—-_

Minho leaves work that night sore, exhausted, but satisfied. One of his students has been working nonstop on a solo piece as part of an audition for a K-pop entertainment company, and she’s finally nailed it. The feeling Minho gets when he sees his students succeeding and feeling proud of themselves is indescribable. It’s why he got into this line of work and why he couldn’t imagine himself doing anything else.

His phone buzzes in his hand as he’s locking up, the last one at the studio as usual. The message is from Jisung, asking if they’re still on for dinner that night, and if they _are_ why is he standing locked out of Minho’s apartment while the pizza he has is getting cold. Minho curses to himself, nearly dropping his keys and his phone as he tries to pick up the pace. 

His apartment is only a block away from the studio where he works, but it’s a trek when the sidewalks are covered with snow. The pavement has been salted of course, but ice still lines the edges and everyone has to squeeze together, making foot traffic slow like molasses. He dodges around Salvation Army Santas and girls in mile-high heels, dressed for holiday parties. It takes him twice as long as usual to get home, and when he finally crests the top of the stairs to his third-floor walk-up, he’s frozen down to his bones and full of guilt for leaving Jisung hanging.

He announces himself by yelling out a choked, “I’m sorry,” drawing out the last syllable way, way longer than it needed to be. Jisung had been holding his phone and worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, but flinches hard enough to drop his phone, almost losing the pizza as well.

“What took you so long, damn?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m _sorry,_ ” Minho repeats as he fishes out his keys to let them inside. “We were recording Yeji’s audition video and lost track of time.” 

Three sets of wide, round eyes greet them at the door, accompanied by a cascade of pathetic meows. Soonie, Doongie, and Dori weave their way between Minho’s and Jisung’s feet as they try to shuffle into the apartment, kicking off their shoes and unloading their things by the door. The apartment is cold and mostly dark and Minho can see that their food dishes are nearly—but not entirely—empty. 

“Ridiculous,” he mutters, hanging his coat on the hook and stepping around the cats to get to the kitchen. Jisung is right behind him, tutting and trying to carry the pizza to the counter while simultaneously scratching behind Dori’s ears. It’s not working, but Minho thinks it’s adorable anyway.

“Well? How did she do?” Jisung has been following the saga of Yeji’s audition since it began, of course he’s invested.

Minho launches into his description of Yeji’s routine, the last minute changes they put to it, the way she improvised one part and how it came out better than anything they could have planned. She’s only 14 but she has so much potential. “I really think she can make it,” he says. “She’s been working with a vocal coach, too, conditioning, endurance, all of that.”

“You know, you could have done it, too,” Jisung says, settling down on a bar stool and leaning on one elbow.

Minho makes a face. “I don’t think so,” he says, finally tearing into tonight’s dinner. The pizza is nearly cold but he’s so hungry he doesn’t even care at this point. “As you recall, I did theater all through school and I hated it.”

“But you could be, like, a k-pop choreographer or something,” Jisung says around a mouthful of crust and mozzarella cheese.

“And then I’d have to move across the planet and you wouldn’t survive without me.”

“Okay, that’s a fact.”

“Mhm.” Minho gives Jisung a pointed look. The truth is, Jisung would be fine, and maybe Minho would have thrived in that industry, but he’s happy how things are, and he loves what he does. “Besides, there’s only room for one celebrity in this marriage.” 

Jisung nearly chokes on his food when he laughs at Minho’s comment. He’s not exactly famous, but he does well for himself as an author. 

“So we’re married now?”

“With three kids, hello.” Minho waves his hand to where the cats are eating.

“I always knew you were in love with me.” Jisung runs his hand up Minho’s thigh, fingers digging into the muscle lightly.

Minho nearly falls out of his chair.

Not because this is unexpected, or because he can’t handle Jisung’s random flirtatious comments and casually affectionate touches. But because he just remembered what he said to his mother and sister earlier that afternoon and now, sitting next to Jisung at his kitchen table, he has to pay the consequences for his idiot mouth.

“Wait, what’s wrong? I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

Minho wipes his mouth with a napkin stalling for time, waving away Jisung’s babbling. But even though it feels like a rock is caught in his throat, he has to speak up. Chaerin has Jisung’s number and he can’t take the risk of _her_ springing the news on Jisung without Minho warning him first.

“Speaking of getting married…” Minho starts.

“Oh no.”

“IkindoftoldmymomandChaerinthatyouandIaredating.” The sentence comes out in one long compound word, slurring together and nearly unintelligible. 

“Huh?” Jisung’s voice is a little higher than usual, and so Minho knows he understood.

“I said I kind of told my mom and Chaerin that you and I are dating.” Minho can’t look at him. 

“Oh my god, so you _are_ in love with me!”

Minho, panicking, whips his head around to look Jisung in the face. He sports a wide, shit-eating grin that Minho would very much like to _knock_ off his face. The tips of Minho’s ears burn but he hopes his hair hides it.

“I am not in love with you,” he growls through gritted teeth. “I just wanted my mom off my back. I _also_ told her you were coming to the cabin for Christmas but don’t worry, you don’t have to.”

“Oh no, I’m coming.”

“You are not coming.”

“I am absolutely without a doubt coming to the cabin for Christmas and you cannot stop me. I have the power of god and _your_ _mother_ on my side.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much. It’s not happening.”

“We’ll see, babe.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Minho digs in for another slice of pizza while his phone chimes for the tenth time that night. He ignores it, as usual when it’s his sister double, triple, decatexting him, but Jisung isn’t as easily persuaded to let it go.

“Are you going to answer that or what?”

“It’s just Chaerin,” Minho answers absently, more interested in the food he’s eating.

“What if it’s an emergency?”

“Trust me, it’s not.” And he knows this for a fact because she has been texting him _all night_ trying to pry more information out him and catch him in the act of lying about Jisung.

Jisung lets out a snort of annoyance and snatches the phone from the table, typing in the passcode. Minho can’t even be bothered to stop him; his dumbassery has already been put on full display, what else could possibly happen? But then Jisung is howling with laughter and tapping away on the touch screen keyboard, a devilish glint in his eye that Minho does _not_ like.

“What are you doing?” He lunges for the phone but Jisung is too fast for him, quickly sliding off his seat and skipping out of reach.

“You guys bet _money_ on this? Oh no, we _have to win.”_

“Um, first of all, there is no _we_ here, and second of all, I agreed this to this stupid bet undercaffeinated and _just_ after seeing her stupid, smug face when she said you wouldn’t date me. But I have no plans to follow through.”

Jisung shakes his head, eyes still glued to the screen and lips turned up in a smile. He’s texting with Chaerin, moving at a rapid-fire pace to keep up with his teenage sister. 

“Oh no, we are following through.”

“You don’t even need the money.”

“It’s not _about_ the money, it’s about winning.”

“Jisung, no.”

“Minho, yes.”

Jisung taps out one final message before clicking the phone shut and dropping it back on the table. Minho glares at Jisung, and then the device, and then back to Jisung. 

“What did you do?”

“I just filled her in on our _very_ adorable love story. Full of pining from afar, insecurities, before finally waking up and realizing what we had both known all along.”

“I’m going to stop you there.”

“But you’re in this right? We’re going to win?”

Minho stares at Jisung for a moment, chewing his food to stall for time. Jisung’s face is lit with mischief and the same competitive spark that glinted in eye all through high school and college—whether it be sports or debate team or whatever else he was pursuing at the moment. Minho could tell there was no stopping him. He’d either have to get on board or swallow his pride and tell Chaerin and his mom the truth.

“Fine, I’m in.”

—-

Minho stretches his legs out on the floor, flexing and pointing the toes of his foot that had fallen asleep ages ago. The sun set a little while ago, shrouding Jisung’s living room in darkness, the only light now coming from the television playing The Nightmare Before Christmas. Around him is a graveyard of scotch tape, cardboard boxes, and discarded scraps of wrapping paper, but they’re only half-done.

”So how are we doing this?” Jisung asks.

”Hm?” Minho bends in half at the waist, hands wrapping around his feet and pulling upward. The stretch burns but feels good after sitting still for so long.

”Convincing everyone we’re together?” Jisung slaps one last piece of tape over glittery silver wrapping paper, adding his present for their friend Chan to the growing pile. “Chaerin won’t stop texting me; she really thinks she’s onto us.”

”That’s because she _is_ onto us. And I don’t know, Jisung. We’ve known each other forever, it can’t be that hard.”

Jisung lets loose a world-weary sigh, clearly fed up with Minho dodging the subject. They haven’t talked about it in the few days since the bet was placed, but it looks like Jisung isn’t content to let it go anymore. He falls back, resting on the plush carpeting. Minho watches him as he continues to stretch. He can see the wheels turning in Jisung’s head, and he’s sure he won’t like where all this thinking leads. Whenever Jisung gets that look on his face, the next moment spells trouble for Minho, whether it’s breaking into their high school’s swimming pool over winter break, or shooting fireworks off the roof of Jisung’s dorm room, or taking very suspicious-looking shots in a probably illegal bar in Busan during their _one_ parent-free trip to Korea. Jisung schemes and Minho follows after him, and it’s usually a disaster.

”We have to practice,” Jisung finally declares at the ceiling. He says it definitively, like there’s no other course of action.

”I’m sorry?”

“We have to practice being together... like that. Or no one will believe us. We can use the party as a warm-up round.”

”I’m not pretending to date you in front of all of our friends.”

Jisung pins him with a stare that says he definitely will be doing just that.

”But we have to practice before that, too,” Jisung continues. “Think about how Chan and Felix act together. We don’t act like that. It’s not convincing.”

”I don’t want to think about Chan and Felix together and I don’t want to act that way with you, Jisung.”

”Do you want to win or not?”

Truthfully, once the hot burst of anger subsided, a reaction to having his ego battered by his sister and his mom, he stopped caring. He wasn’t sure if he could really pretend to have a relationship with Jisung. They were both miserable liars, and aside from some mild cuddling while watching movies together, they weren’t overly affectionate people. Minho had seen Jisung in a handful of relationships over the years, and Jisung was, to put it lightly, clingy. He didn’t think he could match that energy in a convincing way. He’d sooner just give Chaerin the money than humiliate himself in front of everyone he knew.

Minho glances over to Jisung again, lying flat on his back amid a tower of shining Christmas presents. His face is set with determination but he’s also pulling the puppy dog eyes, silently begging Minho to go along with his wacky plans. And Minho’s a sucker; he can’t say no to that face. He huffs out a sigh, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

“Fine, what did you have in mind?”

“Well, you have to kiss me.”

“Why do _I_ have to kiss _you_?”

“Well _I’m_ not going to kiss _you_.”

“And why not? I have great lips.” Minho laughs at his own words and the alarmed look on Jisung’s face. “Damn, I don’t think you can handle this if you balk at just the _idea_ of having to kiss me.”

“Shut up. Fine. I’ll do it. Come here.”

“You come here,” Minho insists.

Jisung groans, rolling off of his back. He crawls over to where Minho sits, legs crossed, pushing the wads of paper and scissors and tape out of his way. Before long, he’s on his knees a few inches in front of Minho and an awkward tension rests between them. For some reason, Minho can’t look him in the eye without the overwhelming urge to giggle taking over.

Now, it’s not as if Minho has never thought about kissing Jisung. He, like many other red-blooded individuals attracted to men, recognizes Jisung is hot. And he went through his teenage years with the guy, hormones peaking unbearably high in Jisung’s presence, as Minho worked through his sexuality. For a brief summer, it felt like his relationship with Jisung might turn that direction. The humidity of the city left Jisung, who had started working out a lot more, mostly shirtless. Minho had eyes. But the tension that brewed dissipated with the heat of summer and neither one of them ever talked about it.

Sitting here in Jisung’s living room, bracing himself for a kiss that was ten years coming, felt a little surreal. But he supposed he had a part to play, and Jisung did have a nice mouth.

”Well, get on with it,” Minho says, deflecting from his weird trip down memory lane.

”Shut up, this is strange.”

”Yeah.”

”And gross.”

”Sure.”

”Ugh, shut up.”

”You already said that,” Minho giggles. He can’t believe how nervous Jisung is, watching his fingers fidget in his lap. “It’s a fucking kiss, Jisung. You’re an adult—”

Jisung makes Minho shut up with his lips this time, hastily pressed against Minho’s mouth. Minho’s eyes are still wide open, bulging a little with shock, and he can see that Jisung is in a similar state. Their lips don’t even line up properly, not really, and it’s over before Minho can even process it’s happening. Chaste and quick and to the point and not convincing in the least.

”What the hell was that?” Minho asks, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Nothing’s there, but it makes him feel better.

”I kissed you! What do you mean?”

”You call that a kiss? I had better in spin the bottle circles in middle school, Jisung, that’s just about the worst kiss I’ve ever had. _A kiss_ ,” Minho scoffs.

“I’d like to see you do better.”

”Oh, I most _definitely_ could do better. But I don’t think you can handle that.”

”Just try me.”

Minho rolls his eyes. Anyone could do better than this. _Dori_ could do better than what Jisung had given him. He scoots closer to Jisung, laughing at the way his mouth drops into a small _O_ shape, eyes large and round. Annoyance flares through Minho, and he really can’t believe he’s doing this, but he moves forward, getting onto his knees. Jisung is still as a statue under Minho’s gaze when their eyes meet. Minho’s never seen him like this before, and it almost makes him laugh, but the bigger, meaner side of him wants to see just how far he can push. He tucks a strand of Jisung’s long, dark hair behind his ear, their faces mere inches apart, so close he can feel Jisung’s breath fanning against his face. Minho smiles, raising an eyebrow, when he sees Jisung swallow thickly.

“You okay?” Minho asks, voice purposefully low and warm. Jisung nods.

”Just do it already.”

So he does. With one hand cupping the soft swell of Jisung’s cheek, he pulls Jisung in closer until their lips meet. Jisung’s eyes fall shut, and Minho’s follow suit. The slide is gentle this time, Minho moving his lips just slightly to create a little bit of friction. There are no fireworks or bells or anything, but when Minho pulls away, Jisung’s mouth is still slightly agape, his eyes closed, cheeks lightly dusted with pink.

”See?”

Minho’s teasing pulls Jisung from his trance, the peaceful expression on his face quickly turning to a scowl. His blush deepens and he slaps Minho across the shoulder.

”Okay, fine, that was better, but next time I’ll get you. Just watch.”

Minho laughs, crossing his legs under him and pulling over the next item he has to wrap for the Christmas party, smart phone projector for Felix. He quietly hums along with _Kidnap the Sandy Claws_ while pretending he doesn’t notice how Jisung has fallen silent. Peter, Jisung’s cat, waddles over a few minutes later to plop his furry butt on top of the square of wrapping paper Minho had been about to fold around the box.

”We’re going to have to hold hands and shit too,” Jisung says, breaking the silence. He looks over at Minho rubbing Peter’s belly and smiles softly.

“If you want to hold my hand, just ask, Jisung,” Minho coos.

”I hate you so much.”

”I don’t think that’s true.”

Jisung sighs, tossing the packet of scotch tape on the floor and scaring Peter away. “Are we still seeing _It’s a Wonderful Life_ tomorrow?”

”Jisung, it’s our tradition, of course we are.”

”Okay, then it’s a date. We’re going to pretend to be boyfriends and you’re going to like it.”

Minho laughs, fluffing the cat fur from his wrapping paper and then proceeding to fold sharp corners around the cardboard edges. He briefly imagines what a date with Jisung would look like. It can’t be terrible. Jisung is his best friend for a reason. He’s great company, they enjoy the same things, he’s a comforting presence, someone who understands him. Pretending to be his boyfriend should be easy.

“Okay, it’s a date.”

"And it'll be the best damn date you've ever been on."

Minho had to laugh. "We'll see about that."

\---

Minho wakes up the following morning groggy and aching, twisted in his sheets, throat dry. He did not sleep well. When he had kissed Jisung, he thought nothing of it, just trying to make his friend laugh and show him what's what. But when he finally rested his head on his pillow, he only saw one thing as he closed his eyes. Jisung's face. Jisung's face with his dumb round cheeks and square jaw and his stupidly long eyelashes. They haunted him as he tossed and turned all night, and when he finally drifted off to sleep, it was to the grey of a winter dawn.

He spends the rest of his day anticipating the 'date' he has with Jisung later that afternoon, if he could even call it that. How many times had they gone to the movies together? Or shared a meal? They've done it all and it never felt particularly romantic between them, even if Jisung _was_ Minho's favorite person to spend time with. He wondered how they could ever elevate their time together out of strictly platonic friendship, and he doubted Jisung's abilities to do so. But whenever he closed his eyes, he'd remember the kiss, and more importantly, the way Jisung behaved right after, and confusion would sweep in.

_Why were they even doing this?_

**Gremlin:** mom says dont forget that jiji is coming with u guys next week and that u and jisung aren’t together 

**Hannie:** change of plans i'm picking you up at 4 be ready

Both texts hit Minho's phone at the same time and he sighs into his folded arms. He's been hunched over the desk at work for a few hours now, preparing invoices and his brain is so muddled he barely understands a word from either of them.

He fires off a quick text to confirm Jisung's plans, telling him to "pick him up" from the studio instead then. Then he scrolls back to Chaerin's message, scanning it over again before he remembers what the hell she's talking about.

 _Fuck._ He _did_ forget. Eunji, their cousin, is supposed to help them volunteer the next time they go in. As he's trying to put together some excuse for Jisung's absence, three little dots appear indicating his sister's typing.

 **Gremlin:** and don't even think about trying to get out of it  
**Minho:** Jisung has a work thing he has to do that night  
**Gremlin:** ha i knew it!!!  
**Minho:** you dont know shit  
**Gremlin:** u two are so not together and im going to prove it  
**Minho:** this is getting really boring already  
**Gremlin:** if im wrong ill do all the dishes at cabin  
**Minho:** i'll buy you a nice pair of rubber gloves for christmas then

Four o'clock comes quickly, surprising Minho when his boss, Irene, sticks her head in the doorway to the office to say goodbye. It's their last day before their extended winter break, and the whole building is darker and emptier than usual as he packs up his desk. He shoves the stack of invoices to be mailed out under his arm and collects the rest of his things before locking up. Jisung is just stepping up onto the curb as Minho locks the studio door behind him and shoves the envelopes into the blue mailbox outside.

"Ready?" is Jisung's way of greeting.

Minho turns to face him and can hardly stop his jaw from dropping when he sees how Jisung is dressed. He's wearing head-to-toe black, a pinstriped button down under an expensive-looking wool coat. His hair is done and smoky makeup lines his eyes. The outfit is completed with his signature platform boots, but they don't take away from the look at all; rather they add just the right amount of edge to make it look like _Jisung_ and not a costume.

"Wow, I feel underdressed." Minho looks down at his dark wash jeans and oversize sweater, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as they slide down.

"You look great, but we have to go, we're about to hit some major traffic."

"Wait, what?" Minho asks, alarmed, pulling on his jacket and chasing after Jisung.

Jisung leads him down the block to where his car idles, double parked. Minho is wholly confused by the presence of the car, especially since their usual theater is only two subway stops away. But he climbs into the passenger seat anyway, fingers and nose already burning with cold from just the thirty second walk.

"What's going on?"

Jisung turns to him, blindingly bright smile plastered on his face. "We are going to the drive in," he announces, putting the car in gear. "But the closest one is in Jersey and we’re about to hit rush hour so we’ve gotta go."

"Shouldn't that have been a surprise? What the hell kind of date is this?"

"Minho, if you don't shut up right now..."

"I bet I could plan a better date than you," Minho laughs, turning up the music to drown out Jisung's whiny retort.

Minho lets Jisung concentrate on the road, weaving the Audi between town cars and yellow taxis. Jisung chose a holiday playlist and Minho smiles softly, watching the city flash by his window, loving that his best friend is just as big as Christmas enthusiast as he is. Before long, the sun has set, and after some time stuck in traffic on the bridge, they're finally on the highway, and Minho feels like he can speak again without setting Jisung off.

"We have to pretend in front of Eunji next week," he announces, feigning nonchalance.

Jisung casts him a sidelong glance. "Just like that? You're not going to fight this one too?"

"Chae said she'd do all of the dishes at the cabin."

"You're a child."

"Do _you_ want to do the dishes? You're coming, remember?"

Jisung barks out a laugh. "No, I guess I don't. Your extended family isn't going to be weird about us like corrupting your kid cousin--"

"Jisung, she just came out to her parents, that's _why_ she's coming with us."

"Wait, really?"

"Thanks for loving me so much that you even pay attention to my family."

Jisung rolls his eyes, focusing his attention back on the road. Minho sinks deeper into his seat, enjoying the heated leather, counting the trees as they speed past his window.

\---

Jisung nails a perfectly centered parking space at the drive in theater and Minho can't believe their luck. The screen displays a black and white cartoon soda dancing with a bucket of popcorn, silent until they tune into the proper station on the Audi's radio. The sky is fully dark by now, a glowing blue blanket punched with sparkling stars overhead. Minho stares for a moment, unused to seeing so much sky, when he's pulled back to reality by the sound of Jisung getting out of the car.

"Where are you going?"

"I, like any proper boyfriend, am going to get you hot chocolate. And popcorn? Yeah, popcorn. You are getting in the back seat." He flashes a cheesy smile before slamming the door in Minho's face, which Minho doesn't find particularly boyfriendy or proper at all.

Minho shucks his jacket before letting himself into the surprisingly spacious back seat. Jisung apparently planned for this, and there's a stash of blankets as well as a hidden bottle of Bailey's. Minho spreads out the first blanket he sees, red and black fleece-lined plaid, and waits for Jisung, watching the instruction video play on screen, telling everyone where to park or where the bathrooms are or how to access the sound. 

Jisung comes back just as the opening credits start, sliding into the backseat next to Minho, precariously balancing a tray in one hand as he shuts the door behind him. His nose is pink from the cold and a huge smile lights up his face.

"What's got you so cheery?" Minho asks, accepting one of the steaming cups of hot chocolate.

"The girl at the counter tried to flirt with me, and I told her I was here with my boyfriend," he smiles harder at the last word, inching his face into Minho's space.

Minho laughs at that, reaching under his seat for the Bailey's to spike his drink. They have a few hours before they need to go anywhere, so he offers it to Jisung, who takes it easily.

"You're ridiculous."

"You love it."

"Yeah, yeah," Minho says, rolling his eyes. "Now quiet down, the movie's starting."

"You act like you don't know it word for word already."

Minho pins him with a glare that he hopes Jisung can see in the darkness, not saying anything more. The cheery music on the screen quiets down in favor of voices praying, and a warm coziness fills Minho's chest. He _loves_ this movie and he _loves_ Christmas; he simply can't stress it enough.

The silence in the car is comfortable, punctuated only by the characters on-screen and the occasional crunch of popcorn. This doesn't _feel_ like a date to Minho. Of course, all the right ingredients are there, from the romantic setting to the thoughtful ways Jisung pays attention to Minho's needs. But there's no insecurity, there's no nervousness. He doesn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing or making a fool of himself or coming on too strong. He almost wishes every date was like this, the way it is with Jisung.

Halfway through the movie, hot chocolate cups and popcorn sleeves discarded, Jisung nudges Minho. Too absorbed in George and Mr Potter's conversation, Minho doesn't notice at first, not until a hard elbow is digging into his side.

"Jisung, what the hell?"

"Cuddle with me," he pouts. “This is a date and you're the worst boyfriend ever." He holds his arms open for Minho to settle into.

Minho shrugs, lying back to rest his head on Jisung's shoulder, his hand on Jisung's thigh. Jisung must have expected him to put up a fight, letting out a sound of surprise at the sudden contact. He freezes for a moment, and Minho can feel him tense up, but after, a moment, his arms wind around Minho's middle, holding him close. A few minutes later, Jisung reaches up to stroke Minho's hair, and Minho relaxes into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.

When Minho opens his eyes again, it's to the dinging bell signaling the end of the movie. His back feels a little tight and his foot's asleep, but other than that he feels so well rested after tossing and turning the previous night.

"You missed the whole thing."

"I'm sorry, I didn't sleep well last night," he says, voice thick with sleep. He rubs his eyes, sitting up, Jisung stretching beside him.

"Oh? Thinking about me?"

"Shut up," Minho laughs. And maybe he slaps Jisung's shoulder a little too hard, but he came too close to the truth and Minho can't have that. "Maybe plan something exciting and your date won't fall asleep on you."

Jisung's eyes widen, mouth dropping open with shock. "This is your _favorite_ movie!"

"This is _not_ my favorite movie! This is just my favorite Christmas movie."

"And Christmas is your favorite time of year!"

"That doesn't mean this is my favorite movie! You know, I don't think this relationship is going to work out if you can't pay attention to the most simple things."

Jisung's face is a mask of shock, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He storms from the back seat, the picture of mock anger, slamming the door shut behind him. A second later, he's digging their trash out of the front seat where they'd tossed it all.

"You are the most ungrateful date," Jisung jokes, collecting their hot chocolate cups. "I'm never taking you out again. I know you better than anyone else and this is how you treat me."

"I'm sorry, Ji, but I need someone who's just more attuned to my needs and desires."

"You desire getting your ass beat I think."

"This early on in our relationship, I don't think I'm ready to discuss kinks with you."

Jisung's face is bright red and he stammers over his next reply, unable to come up with anything witty offhand. He looks away, starting the car and ignoring Minho's cackling laughter.

\---

"What are you doing?" Minho asks, looking between the front of his apartment building and Jisung's hands where he's shutting the car off after putting it in park.

"Minho, this is a _date,_ right? I'm walking you to your door." He rolls his eyes as if it should be obvious, giving him a pointed look that clearly means _get the hell out and let's go._

Minho blushes. "You don't have to do all that, you've never walked me to my door before."

"First of all that is a bald-faced lie, I have walked you to your door plenty of times. Second of all, get out and let me be nice, damn. You need to learn how to just accept this if we're going to convince anyone."

Right, the bet. For a moment, Minho had totally forgotten about that half of the equation, simply enjoying Jisung's company and the friendly competition they had fostered. During the quiet drive home, neither of them said much, and Minho took the opportunity to figure out how he'd be able to one-up Jisung and make his date even better. He still doesn't really have any idea, but he's determined to win. Just like Jisung is determined to win this bet against Chae, wholly dedicated to their method acting approach.

"Alright then, lead the way," Minho says, resigned to his fate.

Jisung hops out of the front seat, skipping around the car to quickly open Minho's door for him. A cold, snowy gust of air billows in and suddenly all Minho wants is to run across the sidewalk and get away from the frigid temperatures. Jisung takes his hand and with the same idea in mind, they book it, feet sliding over the freshly fallen snow, hands gripped tight to one another to keep each other from falling. Jisung covers his head with his jacket as he runs, but drops it as they get to the door so he can open it and usher Minho through. He's left with a few puffs of white dotting his hair like glitter. The vestibule is decorated with blinking rainbow lights and Jisung looks like Christmas personified.

It's cute.

As soon as the words hit Minho's mind, he ducks away, punching his key into the door to let them into the stairwell. He's suddenly glad there's no elevator so that he doesn't have to avoid Jisung's eyes for the next few minutes. Instead, he takes the steps two at a time as usual, Jisung following behind.

"So," Jisung says, his voice a notch lower than normal. Minho leans his back to his door, Jisung just a few steps away from him, the toes of his platform boots skimming the _wipe your paws_ welcome mat he'd _insisted_ on buying Minho, even though he hated it. "How was the date?"

Minho looks up at him through his lashes. "I think I could have done better," he laughs.

"Hey!" Jisung slaps his shoulder playfully. "If the date sucked it's because _you_ fell asleep, not because of anything I did."

"Just face it, Sungie. Your kisses suck and your dates suck."

For the hundredth time that night, Jisung's mouth drops open with a tiny gasp. His eyes flick down to Minho's lips for just an instant, almost too quickly for Minho to catch.

"You know what?" Jisung says, scratching his neck.

Jisung takes a step closer to Minho and Minho's breath catches. With nowhere to go, he has to accept Jisung closing in on his space. But Jisung's eyes are dark in a way Minho has never seen before, and his jaw is set forward, like he's got his eyes on something and he won't let it go. Minho's heart races in his chest, only just realizing what's about to happen half of a second before it does. Jisung's hand cups Minho's jaw, the other flies to his waist, and Minho has no time at all to crane his face upward, meeting Jisung's lips with his own.

This time is entirely different. Their mouths align perfectly, there's no awkward crashing of their lips or flailing hands. Jisung's lips are warm and taste like peppermint lip balm, sliding easily over Minho's like they've done this a thousand times before. His hands are strong and sure, holding Minho in place against the door. Minho relaxes into it, heart in his throat, and before he can think, he let's Jisung work his mouth open, Jisung's tongue sliding inside for just an instant, just enough for Minho to want _more._

But Jisung pulls away then, and it's Minho's turn to be dumbfounded, taking another moment to finally close his mouth and open his eyes.

Jisung sports his familiar smug grin, eyes lit with trouble. "Now, how's _that_ for a kiss?"

"Fuck _you,"_ Minho laughs when he finally finds his voice again. "Goodnight."

—-

Minho spends the next two days leading up to Chan's party debating the wisdom of going through with their plan in front of their friends. Some of them they've known as long as they've known each other, and some they've only known since university, but one thing that's true about all of them is that they all know Jisung and Minho as well as any group of people can know each other. They've seen the both of them go through relationships and heartache and the other high and low points of life. Minho doesn't think he can fool them, and he _really_ doesn't want to. The guilt of lying sits like a specter on his shoulders.

Standing in front of the mirror the night of the party, Minho stares at his reflection, wondering what Jisung's boyfriend is supposed to look like. It's silly and stupid, but Jisung has always had a type, a category that Minho certainly doesn't fall into. His past boyfriends have always been tall, built, leaning toward the goth style. Minho can't be anything but himself but he wonders if anyone will buy it when he shows up in his soft pale blue oversize sweater, sleeves hanging past his fingertips, and round glasses perched on his nose.

As for Minho, his past flings have always been small muscle twinks but that's not something he's ready to unpack right now.

The buzzer rings, letting him know that Jisung has arrived. It's a good thing, too, because there's no telling how long he would have just stared, picking apart his own reflection if left unattended. He tears himself away from the mirror to ring Jisung in, and scoops food into the cats' dishes while he waits for him to come upstairs.

"Look at you."

Minho lifts his head from where he's squatted down, petting Dori's ears as he eats. Jisung stands in the doorway, nose pink from the cold, two giant gift bags hanging from one arm.

"What?"

"Soft, pretty. Not very festive."

"Oh, shut up," Minho laughs. He gives Dori one last scratch before getting up to grab his coat.

"I won't shut up, actually. I'm very disappointed honestly." He wiggles his eyebrows at Minho in a mockery of sexual enticement, slowly undoing the buttons of his coat. Then he whips it open dramatically, revealing the ugliest Christmas sweater known to man. There's tinsel and candy canes and lights and even a pug, and somehow it's playing music, and Minho can't make any sense of it but it's _so_ Jisung that he nearly collapses with laughter.

"My boyfriend would _never_ wear that, you have to change," he gasps.

"Your boyfriend _is_ wearing this as a matter of fact and you appreciate it all the same. In fact, you love that he's a clown and embarrasses you on the subway regularly."

"Please cover it up and for the love of god make the music stop."

"You got it babe," Jisung says with a wink, reaching over his shoulder to click off the battery pack. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be. I still don't like lying to our friends."

"What do you mean lying? We are soulmates and you're in love with me. Or am I a joke to you?"

Minho sighs, rolling his eyes. He grabs his own gift bags, sliding his keys into his pockets. "Let's just get this over with. They're never going to believe us anyway."

—-

"Well it's about damn time!" Felix's deep, Australian accent is the first thing Minho hears as Jisung leads him into Felix's and Chan's apartment, dragging him by the hand. At first, Minho panics that they've arrived too late, but then he looks down at where his and Jisung's fingers are twined together and another sort of anxiety pumps through him.

Thankfully, Chan interrupts Minho before he can say anything stupid. He gives them a booming welcome, face already a little flushed from his wine, and takes their bags and coats. There are only a handful of people here, everyone a close friend to Minho, and Minho relaxes. Sometimes Chan's parties can get out of hand but he's happy to see it'll be a smaller affair tonight.

"I'm going to go say hi to Felix," Jisung says to him. And then he kisses Minho on the cheek. Without even looking back, he's gone.

Minho can feel his cheeks warming and tries his absolute best to school his features into neutrality, like this is something he's used to now. Chan catches his eye, raising a single brow.

"So when did that start?"

 _Oh god._ Minho racks his brain in an attempt to remember exactly what Jisung's messages to Chaerin said. They hadn't even talked about a backstory or anything before they got here. Total rookie mistake. Minho says the first thing that comes to mind and prays Jisung is somehow on the same page, wherever he went.

"About a month now."

"Neither of you said a word!"

"Well, it's new, and we wanted to be careful."

Chan claps him on the back, ushering him further into the apartment. "I get it. Come get a drink."

He isn't sure if Chan's ready acceptance means he believes them or if he's just letting it go for now. But the tiny lies feel too heavy for Minho and he's too warm in his suddenly itchy sweater. He follows Chan to the kitchen where he happily accepts a glass of wine, using all of his self control to not down it like a shot. He has to act normal. Just a couple hours. He can do this.

Luckily the attention is quickly taken off of him when the timer on the oven beeps and Felix comes rushing in. Minho backs out of the way, standing in the doorway to the living room, and watches as Felix pulls out a steaming tray of cookies. Chan descends upon them in an instant, Felix swatting him away with the red checkered potholder.

"Let them cool off!" he whines, pushing Chan away from the tray.

Minho catches a glimmer of movement in the corner of his eye and looks up, anything to look away from the disgusting show of affection happening right in front of his eyes. Jisung's standing in the opposite doorway, hand wrapped around a shimmering glass, empty now except for ice. He gives Minho a pointed look, eyes flitting up above Minho's head for a second. Minho follows the movement to a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the door frame above him.

Hell no. He shakes his head at Jisung, vigorously, hoping no one else notices. But Jisung's wearing that same dangerous smile and Minho knows he's done for. He takes another long sip from his glass, watching Jisung cross the kitchen. His stupid sweater blinks in time to Minho's racing heart. He wasn't prepared for this. The last two kisses he shared with Jisung are _not_ something he wants to share in public, all red lips and warm cheeks. It's not how a normal couple reacts and if Jisung kisses him like he did the night of their movie date, they're going to blow their cover for sure.

Before long, Jisung is in front of him. He drains the last little bit of amber liquid from his glass, giving it a jiggle so that the ice cubes clink together.

"Pucker up," he says, giving the worst kiss face Minho has ever seen.

"Isn't it a bit early for this," Minho complains. He scrunches his nose as Jisung leans in closer.

"Oh, relax." Jisung leans in and places a chaste kiss to the corner of Minho's mouth. "See, that wasn't too bad."

"Aw, you can do better than that!" Hyunjin's voice pops the little bubble around Minho and Jisung. "We've all been waiting for this so come on, give us a show. Also Seungmin, you owe me $20, it happened before Minho turned thirty."

Minho takes a step back from Jisung, attention suddenly turned from Jisung's antics to Hyunjin's words. "I'm sorry, you all what?" He turns to Seungmin, who's opening his wallet. "And you what?"

"Sorry, guys." Seungmin has the decency to actually look like he feels a little bad. "You've been so obvious for so long."

"Yeah," Jeongin pipes up. "It was getting hard to watch."

"The most excruciating slow-burn of the century," Felix adds.

Minho doesn't know what to make of any of this, watching as Seungmin slaps a twenty dollar bill into Hyunjin's open hand. Jisung is Minho's favorite person in the entire world--and he likes to think it's reciprocated--but he's never... and Jisung _certainly_ hasn't ever thought about Minho that way. He looks up at Jisung's confused face, all wide eyes and tiny, o-shaped mouth. He shrugs at Minho, mouth turning up in a lopsided grin, as if to say _well who can deny it now._ He can't tell what Jisung is thinking and makes him a little insane.

Jisung throws his arm over Minho's shoulder, pulling him in close. "Alright, alright, enough about us. Changbinnie, tell us about your trip to Kenitra, I know you're about to explode."

Minho eases into Jisung's hold, trying to relax as he sips his wine. It's hard to tune into Changbin's travel stories. Minho's head is a cloud of confusion. Between their kiss the other night and now this, Minho isn't sure how he feels about this entire bet. He has half a mind to call it off. He can't even remember _why_ he took his sister's bait or why he even cares if he can pull off a better date than Jisung.

He spends a good part of the evening, including an amazing dinner cooked by Felix, talking as little as possible and avoiding Chan's gaze. Jisung fills in all the gaps where Minho has withdrawn, and Minho is almost sure Jisung doesn't even notice his sour mood, but then every once in a while Jisung will squeeze his hand or rub his back. A silent way to tell Minho he _knows._ It's something he's always done, has always been able to do, and the small touches are comforting.

After exchanging presents, Minho offers to scoop up all the discarded, shredded wrapping paper--he swears his friends are still eight year old children--and take the opportunity to slip away and take a breath. The weight of lying to all his friends is getting to him, and he pours himself yet another glass of wine, leaning against the counter in the empty kitchen.

"Hey, is everything okay?"

Minho looks up to find Jisung leaning in the doorway. The sounds of his friends laughing trickle down the hallway. Jisung looks tired, a little strained, exactly how Minho feels.

"Yeah, I just needed a breather."

"You've been acting funny all night." He makes his way around the island to take the bottle of wine from Minho's hands and pour himself a glass as well. "What's up?"

"It just feels wrong... you know." He gestures toward the door. "Especially when they're all apparently very invested in us."

"I get it," Jisung says. Minho expects him to put some space between them but he doesn't, and it's nice, feeling the warmth radiating from Jisung's body. "In a few weeks we can just tell them we broke up, that we're better off as friends."

Minho frowns at that. "Isn't that just one more lie?"

"We can just tell them now, if you want to."

Minho groans, draining his glass and looking to the floor. He thinks about his mother's smug face when she called his bluff, about Chaerin's barrage of text-messages trying to prove that Jisung would never date him. He has to admit that their friends' gave them a much nicer reception.

"Hey, relax," Jisung says, rubbing a hand up and down Minho's arm. "It's not a big deal, and besides, we _are_ dating! I took you to the movies! I called you my boyfriend! Gave you the best damn kiss of your life."

"Okay, okay, enough, I get it," Minho laughs, pushing himself off the counter. "You're the best fake boyfriend ever." The heart-shaped smile on Jisung's face makes Minho feel a little lighter.

"You're damn right I am."

"There's no one else I'd rather pretend--"

But Minho's words are cut off by Jisung's mouth crashing into his. He feels his eyes go wide for a split second before realizing what was happening. Then his hand moves to Jisung's shoulder, the other gently placing the wine glass on the counter before moving up to Jisung's neck. Jisung tastes like wine and cranberries and his hands dig into the flesh at Minho's waist, pressing him against the island. Against his will, Minho's heart races, beating so hard he's sure Jisung can somehow hear it or even _feel_ it against his skin. There's nothing Minho can do except relent, go along for the ride of whatever the hell this is.

A few seconds later, Minho hears a fake gagging sound from behind him. Jisung pulls away, breaking their kiss, and by the way his hand flies in the air, Minho can safely assume he's giving whoever it is the middle finger. He doesn't break eye contact with Minho as he says, "Oh, fuck off."

Felix's laugh trails over Minho's shoulder. Jisung watches until he is gone before finally pulling away from Minho. All the places his hands were just touching turn cold on Minho's body.

"Sorry, I heard him coming at the last second and didn't want him to overhear." His face looks guilty, looking away from Minho to focus on the wine bottle again.

"Oh." Minho lets out a little laugh that he hopes doesn't sound nearly as weird as he feels. "Makes a lot more sense than you just kissing me out of nowhere."

"Well, yeah, why would I do that?" Jisung takes a gulp of his wine. "Ready to go back?"

"Yeah, yeah let’s go."

—

Minho pulls his scarf over his mouth and nose, fighting off the chill. Tufts of snow fall lazily down onto the sidewalk as he and Eunji trek from the subway station to Jisung's apartment. It's quiet between them, and Minho can feel the nervous energy radiating off of his younger cousin in waves. She hunkers down in her puffy jacket, eyes on the ground.

"Hey, relax," he says, bumping their shoulders together.

"I have social anxiety, _you_ relax."

Minho laughs at that, his breath dispersing in the air in a white cloud. "Alright, alright. But I promise it won't be as bad as you're thinking. We're just sorting through boxes of donations, we're not even handing them out or anything."

Eunji nods, silent, sparing Minho a quick glance out of the corner of her eye. "Is it going to be all older people?"

"What? Am I _older people?"_

Eunji quirks an eyebrow at him. "You're what they call one of the queer elders, right?"

"Oh my god, I hate it here. I am nowhere near 'elder,'" he laughs. They round the corner to the front doors of Jisung's apartment building. He's standing outside waiting for them, wrapped in a red hand-knit scarf Chae made for him years ago. "Thank god," Minho says when he sees him. "Please tell her I'm not old."

"But why would I lie?" Jisung says, not missing a beat. He takes Minho's hand, planting a small kiss to Minho's knuckles. It's cheesy, but for some reason, Minho can't help but smile, even as he's being made fun of.

"I knew this was a bad idea," Minho mutters, sounding exactly like the old person his teenage cousin has accused him of being.

As it turns out, bringing Eunji along actually ends up being a _fantastic_ idea.

As long as Minho has known her--which is her entire life--Eunji has always been shy and a bit of a loner. Even at family functions, she typically withdraws to a quiet corner by herself. She wasn't kidding about the social anxiety. But all of that time to herself afforded her ample reading time, and, apparently, she's read Jisung's series. Not just the ones that _everyone_ has heard of, that have movie deals and merchandising and collectors' editions, but also the smaller titles he released earlier. And once she found out that _he_ wrote her favorite book of all time, it was like a switch was flipped in her.

Once they got her volunteer registration taken care of, Jisung swept her away to show her around. This has been something that Minho and Jisung try to do at least once a month, but hopefully more, since they were Eunji's age. The queer youth homeless shelter and outreach center was there for Jisung when he needed them, and it's a place that Jisung _loves_ and cares about--a place he wants to give back to at any chance he can. His comfort and familiarity with not just the building, but the people in it, comforts Eunji in a visible way. Her shoulders relax, her eyes light up, and a smile splits her face, revealing braces with purple, blue, and pink rubber bands.

Minho watches them meander off down the hallways toward the kitchen, apparently in their own little world. Jisung spares him one last, goofy smile over his shoulder before the two disappear, and then Minho stuffs his ear buds in his ears and gets to work. This is the shelter's busiest time of the year, both in terms of need because of the weather, but also because most people only get to donating around the holidays, when they're guilted into it. They're overrun with boxes upon boxes of donations, all of which need to be sorted in the next day or two so they can be distributed.

A few other people have set-ups already going on their respective tables, so Minho picks one of his own, carrying a few boxes over to sort through. He recognizes most of the faces here--the same people who have been volunteering their time for years just like he has. They give him friendly smiles, which he returns in kind, but for the most part, there's little conversation as Minho stacks tubes to toothpaste and boxes of tampons. It's comfortable, and with Sufjan's Stevens' _Songs for Christmas_ playing in his ears, the time passes quickly.

Minho works through lunch, stopping here and there to grab a cup of bitter, burnt, but free coffee. But he can't keep going once he feels his stomach growl with hunger, and he realizes he hasn't seen Jisung and Eunji for hours. He's pretty sure they never came back from their tour, so once he finishes breaking down his empty boxes, he grabs his jacket and scarf and heads toward the kitchens where he last saw them.

The kitchen is bustling, an army of volunteers weaving between one another in an effort to get the community dinner prepared and cooked. Again, it's more faces Minho recognizes, some he'd even call friends, and he stops one man with a golden afro, tapping his shoulder.

"Hey, Adé, have you seen Jisung around?"

Adé smiles at him, pink-and-gold-shadowed eyes crinkling at the corners. "He took your adorable little cousin over to the library. She's a _cutie,_ by the way, you better bring her around more often."

"I definitely plan to," Minho says truthfully. "Thanks. Good luck with the dinner rush tonight."

"Baby, if I can do drag shows in Jersey, I can handle this," he says, spatula flinging through he air as he gesticulates.

"I believe you," Minho laughs.

The building the shelter is in used to be a church, and the "library" is nothing more than an old office with a few built-in bookcases full of dusty, out of date library donations. But of course, it's the perfect place to Jisung and Eunji to end up in, and it makes perfect sense to Minho as he navigates the labyrinthine halls. It's deserted upstairs, as most of these rooms are used for behind-the-scenes work like accounting and social media management, and the doorway to the library hangs slightly ajar. He can hear muffled voices echoing from inside, and he doesn't know what comes over him, but he stops just short of the doorway to listen.

"I don't think I'll ever find someone." It's Eunji's voice, high-pitched and whiny. She lets out a long sigh.

"I'm pretty sure we _all_ feel like that at some point in our lives," Jisung laughs. Minho hears the sounds of a book snapping shut, a chair rolling on its wheels. "It won't always be like that, I promise. And besides, there's more to life than dating,"

"Easy for you to say, you have Minho." A pause. "How did you end up with him, anyway? You two seem so different."

Minho furrows his brow. They're not _that_ different, not at all. And he can hear the tone in her voice, the same shade of disbelief he heard from his mom and his sister. He doesn't understand why it bothers him so much, that everywhere they go, it's like no one thinks that Jisung would deign to spend his time with him. It's insulting, and Minho hates how it leaves an itchy, uncomfortable feeling all over his skin, like a too-tight sweater.

He almost wants to go in there with them, when Jisung's voice interrupts his thoughts, his voice kind and soft.

"We're not that different at all," he says. "We have almost the same exact taste in everything, we're both creative--except I write and he dances. I know a lot of people think he's too quiet, or weird, and probably you included--don't give me that face, you know I'm right. But he's actually incredibly funny and smart and caring. Insightful. He has been my support system for as long as I can remember. I wouldn't be who I am today without him."

"Ew, so you like _love_ him."

Jisung snorts. "Of course I do."

Minho doesn't hear what comes next because the only sound making it through to him is the rushing of his pulse in his ears. He leans back against the wall, all plans to interrupt their conversation suddenly aborted. He can't explain why Jisung's words are having such an affect on him, or why the tone of his voice stirs something inside him.

_It's not real._

The thought comes unbidden, but Minho can't hide from it. Nor can he hide from the way Jisung's words made him feel. He pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes, presses until he sees the swirls of color behind his eyelids. The kaleidoscope whorls are easier to untangle than his thoughts right now and he stifles a groan. In the room behind him, Jisung and Eunji are still talking, but he's tuned out their words, until now, when he notices the undeniable sounds of them packing up whatever it was they were doing.

He can't face Jisung right now. Jisung knows him too well, he'll know something is wrong, and Minho isn't sure how he'd answer Jisung's questions. He quickly pushes himself off the wall, keeping his footsteps silent as he creeps around the corner. He feels like some kind of thief or criminal, which is completely ridiculous, but he needs to take a breath.

\--

An hour later, Minho hunches over his table in the rec room, assembling small donation boxes to be filled later on. They tower over him, a red and green brick wall on his table, stacked precariously but holding steady. Christmas music pours through his headphones. He doesn't feel any better than he did standing outside the library doors, but at least more work is done, and he can be proud of that.

He adds one more shoe-box sized brick to his tower, humming along to _Blue Christmas_ when he feels a set of arms wrap around his waist. He jumps, tugging the earbuds from his ears.

"Jesus, Sung, you scared me."

"Your sweater's so soft," Jisung says, completely ignoring him and shoving his face in the space between Minho's shoulder blades. His breath is warm on Minho's back.

"My parents said I have to go home," Eunji says with a scowl, holding up her phone. "And I guess minors can't work for longer than six hours anyway."

"Have you even worked at all?" Minho teases, Jisung still clinging like a koala to his back.

"Hey! We sorted books, I helped baked some cookies," Eunji whines.

"I was just teasing," Minho laughs. "Help me clean this up and we can go."

\---

Jisung tags along for the subway right uptown to escort Eunji home. Minho listens to them talk about _Labyrinth Lost_ while he tries not to focus on Jisung's hand in his, their fingers twined together. Jisung's hand is wide and warm, and he squeezes Minho's fingers a little too tight when he gets animated, tugging on his arm when he's trying to gesture, forgetting his hand is otherwise occupied. Minho swears he can feel the heat creep up his palm to his wrist to his arm and he wonders if he's always felt like this and just hasn't noticed until now.

Before Eunji leaves them at her stop, she and Jisung exchange numbers and Minho adds her to the growing list of his family members that Jisung has won over. It's unsurprising, but it makes him smile all the same.

"My place is closer," Jisung says as they wait on the platform. "Wanna come over and eat? Watch a movie?"

"Depends," says Minho. "Do you actually know my favorite movie or are you simply the worst boyfriend in history?"

Jisung laughs, full bellied and open-mouthed, his eyes crinkling closed. Minho doesn't miss that their hands are still joined between them, though their audience is long gone.

"Let's watch something neither of us have seen before, how about that? So there's no hurt feelings."

"I think it's a little late for that," Minho teases.

An icy blanket covers the city as they make their way back to Jisung's apartment. The late afternoon sky is stark white as more snowfall pours down on them. Jisung leads Minho toward the back entrance, the u-shaped building curving around a small, private courtyard. The fresh snow is untouched, a blank sheet of pure white unmarred by footsteps and Minho has an idea too good to pass up. He kneels down to retie his boot, eyes innocently cast downward at his task as Jisung waits. But the second Jisung turns away, Minho scoops up a handful of snow and launches it at him. He almost feels bad-- _almost._

But the shocked, wide-eyed look on Jisung face is pure comedy gold and Minho thinks it's totally worth it, even as Jisung shovels an armful of snow right at Minho's face.

Minho feels like a kid again. There's nowhere to hide in the empty courtyard unless he wants to throw himself behind a bare, thorny patch of rosebushes. He pulls up his hood and scarf, turning away from Jisung's onslaught. He ducks down, hastily forming snowballs in his freezing, red hands, listening to the sound of Jisung's crunching footsteps growing closer.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Minho-hyung."

The use of the Korean honorific stops Minho in his tracks. Jisung _never_ uses it, much to all of their family's chagrin, and Minho risks a look over his shoulder, hood falling down. The same familiar smirk is painted across Jisung's lips and Minho has less than a second to register it before a new barrage of snow is hurled at him.

"You _brat,"_ Minho yells, ducking, dodging the worst of it but still landing with a stream of freezing cold snow on his bare cheeks and neck. He throws himself at Jisung's legs, taking him down, but Jisung lands on top of him, pushing his face into the snow.

The only reason he able to toss Jisung off his back is because Jisung is too overcome by his own laughter to put up much of a fight.

Of course, that doesn't last long, and soon enough they're rolling around like two overgrown puppies let out of the house after days of being pent up indoors. Jisung recovers and makes Minho eat snow, and then Minho takes the upper hand, rolling them over once again. It goes on like this until they're both laughing, gasping for air, their cheeks and noses and fingers bright red from the cold. Minho finally surrenders after Jisung pins him down and traps his wrists with his thighs.

"Okay, okay, enough, you win!" His glasses are fogged and he's out of breath. Above him, Jisung shakes with laughter.

"I told you not to mess with me," he teases. He lifts himself off of Minho, brushing the snow from his clothes. Then he reaches a hand down to help Minho up.

But Minho has a better idea.

He takes Jisung's hand in his and _yanks_ him back down into the snow. 

Jisung falls with a cry and Minho tries to roll out of the way and dodge him, but his clothes are wet and heavy and the snow too soft to gain any purchase. Jisung collapses on top of him, the weight of him flattening Minho on his back.

"Well, that backfired," he grumbles.

Jisung's smile is softer this time. Their faces are just inches apart. Minho can see the sweat matting Jisung's hair at his temples, the range of warm brows coloring Jisung's irises. Minho catches Jisung looking down at his lips and Jisung goes very, very still in Minho's arms.

Confusion wars with the desire to bridge that small gap between them and Minho doesn't know what to do. He knows what it feels like, the moments before a kiss, when everything in the world holds its breath, waiting. And he feels it now, here, with Jisung, but Jisung is his best friend. He shouldn't want this.

He thinks about Jisung's words in the library of the shelter and it scares him how much he wants this.

Jisung licks his lips and Minho tracks the movement. He could do it. He really could. But he won't. Because he is being ridiculous and letting this stupid fake relationship mess with his brain, mess with a 20 year friendship. He knows where he and Jisung stand and a dumb bet isn't going to throw his life into upheaval. He reaches over, grabs a small handful of snow, and shoves it down the open collar of Jisung's sweater, shattering the moment and sending Jisung into a fit of squeals as he rolls off of Minho.

"Now look at you," Minho laughs, struggling into an upright position. "Let's go inside, it's cold."

\--

If Minho thought a little bit of snow shoved down a shirt was going to ease the tension between them, he was sorely mistaken. The elevator ride up to Jisung's apartment is quieter than it normally is between them, and they both try to talk, but it comes out awkward and stilted. Every time he looks at Jisung's face, Minho can feel himself blush, which is ridiculous considering they've already _actually_ kissed a handful of times by now.

The worst, though, is when they actually get into the apartment.

Jisung lets them inside, Peter greeting them at the door. Their shoes and clothes and coats are all soaked through from the snowball fight, dripping huge puddles onto the hardwood floors as they strip their snow gear off at the door.

"I'll throw this stuff in the laundry and you can borrow some clothes, come on." Jisung's voice is soft and he won't look Minho in the eye.

Minho follows Jisung down the hall to his bedroom, where Jisung disappears into the closet for a moment. It's been a while since Minho has been back here, and looking around, it seems like little has changed, except that it's decorated for Christmas. The bed pushed against the exposed brick wall is unmade, green and white plaid bedding thrown in a pile in the middle, an indent where Jisung had slept wrapped around it. A fake tree sits in front of the window, lights turned off. And amidst an army of framed pictures, a string of rainbow lights snakes its way around the top of the dresser.

Minho studies the pictures. He's seen them all before, but they feel new every time he looks at them. A few of Jisung and his family from when he was just a kid, all braces and too-long limbs. But most are of Jisung and Minho and their friends. A trip to Australia to visit Felix's and Chan's families. Jisung surrounded by Minho's family on their trips to Busan and Gimpo. Surrounded by everyone they knew at high school graduation. Minho and Soonie the day he adopted him.

"Here you go."

Minho turns to find Jisung standing in the doorway to his walk-in, surrounded by the halo of the overhead light. He holds out a set of neatly folded clothes for Minho to change into, but Minho's not looking at Jisung's hands. He’s looking at a wide expanse of skin, golden-brown even in the winter, deep ridges of toned abs and long, v-shaped lines disappearing into the waist of low-slung sweatpants. Minho has seen Jisung shirtless plenty of times, but now it's different. After having kissed him, having held his hand, having felt the weight of Jisung's body pressed into his, it's different.

Minho quickly averts his gaze, feeling his cheeks warm as he mutters out a quick thanks. He turns away, praying Jisung hasn’t noticed. Making quick work of his own clothes, he changes, tossing his sopping wet jeans and sweater into the nearly full laundry basket by the door. Neither of them says a word, and Minho's throat feels swollen shut. He's losing his mind and he doesn't know how to get it together again.

"What do you feel like eating?" he asks, trying his damndest to sound normal.

Jisung scoops up the laundry, kicking the door open. "I don't care, order whatever you want," he calls over his shoulder.

"Very helpful, thank you!"

Minho opens the delivery app, wandering out to the living room, doing his best to ignore the constant barrage of images in his head, warm tanned skin and tousled bedsheets.

They settle on Italian food, splitting their entrees so they both get a taste of veal meatballs and lemon sole. It takes them almost too long before they finally settle on a movie to watch, letting _Love, Actually_ play in the background while they divvy up their food. Jisung's couch is as comfortable as Minho's at home, and Minho sinks into the slate gray cushions, belly full and body exhausted from the long day behind them.

"I could be a better husband than Harry," Jisung says out of nowhere.

Minho snorts, hitting Jisung with a ruby red throw pillow. "Anyone could be a better husband than Harry. Literally anyone."

"Well not _anyone."_

"Karen should feel relieved he gave that necklace to Mia. It's hideous."

"Okay, here's one. _I_ could give a better Christmas gift than Harry," Jisung laughs.

"Again, the bar is so low!"

"I could give a better Christmas gift than you, how about that?"

Minho laughs again, thinking about the neatly wrapped packages sitting under his Christmas tree at home, addressed to Jisung. "There's absolutely no way. I'm sorry, but I won this one."

"We'll see about that." There's a sly glint to Jisung's eyes as he picks up his soda and takes a long sip. "You know, it reminds me. Technically, I still planned a better date than you."

"Well considering I haven't taken you on a date at all, it's pretty hard to lose that one, Jisung."

"Exactly! _I'm_ the better boyfriend here. At least I care enough about this relationship to plan a date night, even if it's just a movie."

"So you admit it's pretty lame?"

Minho ducks out of the way of pillow Jisung flings back at him. "Let's see you do better," Jisung whines.

Minho smiles. "I will. You're not doing anything Thursday morning, are you?" Jisung shakes his head. "Alright, Wednesday night then."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"I'm still a better kisser than you," Jisung says under his breath.

"Shut up and watch the movie."

\---

Minho feels oddly nervous as he pulls his car out of the parking garage Wednesday night.

And not just about driving--though it's been a while since he's done so. He's thought long and hard about how much he pays for parking every year compared to how much he actually drives, but tonight he's feeling thankful to his past self for not getting rid of the car prematurely. Because there's no way he'd pull off a date like this without it.

He makes his way to Jisung's apartment, fingers nervously thrumming along the smooth leather of the steering wheel. Since that afternoon with Eunji, Minho hasn't been able to get Jisung off his mind. It's unrelenting, and thoughts of him come at any moment of the day. And without the distraction of work, or access to the studio, it's hard to clear his mind. He thinks about the almost-kiss, on the ground in the snow, and a tremor runs through him.

He'll be happy when this entire fake relationship is put to rest in a few days.

He still thinks it's a bit ridiculous, this whole date. It was one thing when it was something they'd already planned on doing. It was one thing when it was practice, to see if they could pull it off. But their friends believe them, Eunji believes them, and Minho is reasonably sure they can act well enough to convince Chaerin and his mother for a few days. But there's some small part of him that wants to prove Jisung wrong, and there's an even smaller, _stupid_ part of him that's looking forward to seeing Jisung's face when they get to their destination.

"It's after midnight, this better be good," Jisung complains as he slides into the passenger seat. He's wrapped in a long line black wool coat and places his bare hands over the air vents to feel their heat.

"We're just getting pizza."

"Are you serious?"

Minho shoots him a look. "Do you think I'm serious?"

"Well maybe your idea of romance is middle of the night grease and cheese, how do I know?"

"Jisung, you've seen me with every boyfriend I've ever had. You should know better."

It's Jisung's turn to shoot Minho a look, but it's one Minho can't decipher, and when Jisung doesn't follow it up with any more comments, Minho shrugs it off. Jisung, hands warmed satisfactorily, sits back in his seat, stifling a yawn.

"Long day?" Minho asks.

"Spent the whole day reading for blurbs, my brain is leaking out of my ears."

Minho casts him a sidelong glance. Jisung's face is lit up by street lights, and though the view isn't perfectly clear, Minho can still see how tired he is.

"I'm sorry I dragged you out so late. The drive is about an hour, so you can nap until we get there."

"Where the hell are we going in Jersey at 1am the Wednesday before Christmas?"

"Shh, all in due time."

Jisung apparently doesn't have it in him to fight back. He leans against the headrest and closes his eyes as Minho hums along to his Christmas playlist, driving them toward the only date that has ever made Minho this anxious.

\---

Minho doesn't have to wake Jisung up when they arrive; the colorful, glowing lights do it for him.

He drives the car down the small access road, following the fence until finally, they break through the tree line and Six Flags is spread before them, shining with their Christmas decorations. Soft whites and reds compete with less traditional oranges, purples, and blues, to create a festive wonderland for them to explore. He nearly vibrates out of his seat watching Jisung slowly wake up, squinting against the light.

"Six Flags?" he asks, voice raspy with sleep.

"Yup."

"It's closed."

"It sure is."

Jisung's face lights up all on its own, no candy colored bulbs needed, when he realizes what they're about to do. Minho's taken back to all their high school antics, from the pool to the abandoned warehouses, to, yes, amusement parks. The same thrill lightning-bolts its way through his chest. It's excitement and anticipation and the fear of getting caught all rolled into one.

"You up for the challenge?" Minho asks, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"I was born ready," Jisung says in his best action hero voice. It's cheesy, Minho cringes, but he laughs too, and they both get out of the car.

The air outside is frigid and maybe halfway between their makeshift parking space behind a bunch of winter-dead, snarling thorn bushes, and the chain link fence surrounding the park, Minho regrets his choice of venue. There's nothing wrong with a nice, _indoor, heated_ restaurant, right? His breath clouds in front of him, hanging in the still night, and the moon and Christmas lights guide their path.

"Do you think it's still here?" Jisung asks, walking along the fence.

Minho doesn't have to ask what he means. The summer he got his license and first car, Minho would pack them up--himself, Jisung, and usually Changbin and Seungmin, too--and they'd walk this very path around the park until they found a weak spot in the fence. No one had to know that Changbin was the one who created this weak spot, with a clever eye and a pair of bolt cutters. It's been years, but Minho still knows the way, knows how far they need to walk before--

"There." He points to an unassuming section of fence, nothing about it out of the ordinary except a slash of red paint.

"I can't believe they never fixed this..." Jisung pulls at the fence, and though it takes a few tries, he's able to wrench it up. The perfect doorway into their very own playground.

Minho flashes him a quick smile before he gets down on the frozen ground and shimmies under. Grass and rocks dig at his chest and he hopes the sound he just heard wasn't the tearing of his coat on the sharp metal wires. But he gets through relatively unscathed, before bending down and holding the section of fence open for Jisung to do the same.

He reaches a hand out to pull Jisung to his feet, and he's suddenly reminded of pulling him _down_ into the snow. They stand face to face for a second, Jisung watching the glittering lights above them, and Minho watching Jisung's face. The flashing in Jisung's eyes looks like shooting stars, and Minho has to internally scold himself for thinking something like that.

"You okay?" Jisung asks.

"Just fucking freezing."

Jisung laughs at that. "Where to?"

"Well, without Changbin here there's no reason we need to climb anything, right?" He shudders thinking of those nights spent climbing the maintenance access ladders on the Rolling Thunder before they tore it down. Minho almost misses the rickety old wooden roller coaster--but only almost.

They skirt their way through the tall grasses underneath the Lasso, around the inner fence surrounding it, weaving through electrical boxes and machinery sheds. "We could just loop around?" Jisung asks it like a question. They emerge onto the cobbled pathway. "Hey, remember when you threw up on this thing?" Jisung says, gesturing to the massive pendulum ride behind them.

Minho groans in embarrassment. "Is that really something to talk about on a _date?_ At least I went on!"

"After a lot of pestering--"

"Bullying."

"Jeongin was like fourteen, he couldn't bully you if he tried."

"That just shows me how little you really know about your friends."

Jisung tuts, knocking his shoulder into Minho's. "Is that how you talk to all your dates or am I just special?"

"Oh no, you're special." Except it ends up sounding a lot more sincere than Minho intended, and Jisung falls quiet, focusing on the scenery. 

Jisung leads and Minho follows him down the winding path, around DC hero-themed rollercoasters and thrill rides. The park is quiet, which clashes with the vivacity of the decorations, and the only sounds Minho hears are the puffs of their breaths and the distant lapping of the lake, invisible in the dark. The longer the silence stretches between them, the more Minho's mood starts to deflate. Maybe this only used to be fun because of the people around them, not because it was _actually_ fun.

He struggles with what to say next, feeling, somehow, like his last words were a misstep. But then Jisung takes his hands to his face, forcing warm air onto them in an attempt to fight off the stinging cold and Minho jumps at the opportunity.

"Here," he says, getting Jisung's attention.

Jisung turns to look at his outstretched hand, and reaches out to meet him. Minho drops two warm packs onto the flat of his palm. "Thanks," says Jisung with a soft smile.

"I knew you wouldn't dress appropriately."

"Well maybe if you had told me ahead of time we'd be outside..."

"That would have ruined the surprise."

The round the corner to Whimsical Wonderland, a giant Christmas tree at the center lighting the entire area up. This corner of the park is full of kids' rides, small enough for toddlers to go on. Everything seems strangely small, off-kilter, like Minho's looking through a funhouse mirror. There aren't as many decorative lights here, and the red glow from the tree at the center casts an eerie filter over everything. Skull Mountain looms overhead, a black void in the sky.

"I feel like I can hear the carnival music.. but I can't." Jisung grimaces.

"This wasn't supposed to be creepy," Minho counters, but he can barely look at Jisung. Instead, his eyes are focused on the kiddie sized carousel, so small it looks like a toy.

"Well it is anyway." Minho can feel Jisung shiver next to him, and he _swears_ he sees something move out of the corner of his eye. "Okay, lets get the fuck out of here." Jisung loops his arm through Minho's and yanks him toward main street.

"Did you see that?" Minho asks, looking over his shoulder as Whimsical Wonderland gets further and further away.

"I don't want to think about it."

Jisung pulls him down the pathway, past the Harley Quinn and Joker rides, the Skyway lit up overhead to guide their steps. Minho can't shake the feeling that he's being watched, until Jisung leads them over a small wooden footbridge hanging over a half-frozen creek, and they're inside the Joy to the World display.

"This was always my favorite as a kid," Jisung says, looking up at the trees above them. It's a small forest of shining, golden branches, glowing warm over his skin.

"That is... not typical for a kid. It's usually the rides."

Jisung smiles. "It was way less packed in here. Everyone wanted to go on the roller coasters but no one wanted to walk through a light show."

"I guess not."

"But it was nice, a little pocket of quiet in the middle of the chaos."

Without Minho noticing, somehow Jisung's hand, that had been pulling Minho to safety, had slipped down, twining their fingers together. Minho can’t feel him through his gloves, so without thinking, he pulls away. Jisung tears his eyes from the lights for a moment to furrow his brow at Minho, but Minho ignores him, ripping off the glove, shoving it in his pocket, and grabbing onto Jisung's hand again. Skin against skin, Jisung is frozen, heat pack apparently forgotten. Minho squeezes Jisung's icy fingers and slips his sleeve down over both of their hands.

"Better?" he asks.

"Much."

They meander slowly through the display, past light up Santa Clause scenes, a three-masted ship made entirely of white lights to represent Greece, and a weird nativity scene complete with a Baby Born Jesus. Music would accompany the blinking of the lights during the hours the park is actually open, but Minho feels like his mind can fill in the gaps on its own. He holds tight to Jisung's hand as they walk and soon enough, warmth grows between their fingers.

"You know, I never thanked you," Minho says, breaking the comfortable quiet.

"Hm?"

"I never thanked you for going along with this ridiculous plan with me."

"Well, I kind of insisted, didn't I?" Jisung says.

Minho smiles, remembering that night over pizza, Jisung stealing his phone and texting with Chaerin. "I guess so. Still, I don't know what I was thinking when I told them we were together, and you really saved me by playing along."

"There's no one else I'd rather pretend to date."

Minho isn't sure when they stopped walking. They stand under a tunnel make of twinkling white stars, the whole world reduced down to the space between them. Jisung is haloed by the glow, his eyes shining, lips pulled into a heart-shaped smile.

"Even if the dates are lame?" Minho asks.

"This is the best date I've ever been on."

Minho thinks this probably isn't true. They've only been here for about an hour, they're freezing, it's quiet and sometimes a little bit creepy. But the fact that Jisung says it at all makes his stomach flutter, his heart race.

"Can I kiss you?" Jisung asks.

It's the first time he's asked, and for that and so many other reasons, this time feels different. Jisung's thumb strokes over Minho's knuckles. He takes a single, small step closer, platformed boot scraping across the gravel, and Minho has to look up to meet his eyes. There's nothing playful in Jisung's expression anymore. His brows are straight lines framing his face, his lower lip pulled between his teeth, and his eyes are unsure, searching Minho's.

"Yes." There's nothing else left for him to say.

Their fingers stay laced together as Jisung reaches up with his other hand to cup Minho's jaw. Minho can hear the beating of his own heart in his ears, strong enough that he's sure Jisung can feel it fluttering under his hands. His fingers are ice cold, pressed against Minho's skin, but Minho can't bring himself to care about that right now. Not when his eyes are falling shut and he feels the first press of Jisung's lips against his own.

Now, it just doesn't just _feel_ different. It _is_ different.

Now, he isn't worried about who is the better kisser, or who is going to win, or how convincing he has to be. Now, he can simply let it happen, he can feel everything that he has maybe always felt but was too afraid to look at too closely. He can give in to the press of Jisung's thumb against his chin, coaxing his mouth open, the slide of their tongues together. He can fist the material of Jisung's shirt in his hand, pull him closer, feel the warmth of his body. This kiss isn't for anyone else, this isn't _for_ anything at all, except for the sake of kissing, and he doesn't want it to end.

Later, on the drive home, Minho will wonder if they did the right thing, if Jisung's silence is more than just exhaustion. He will replay the kiss over and over again in his mind as he blinks away sleep in his own eyes. But for now, it _doesn't_ have to end, and he can take a deep breath as their foreheads press together, and then dive right back in for more.

\---

Minho wakes up to his phone buzzing on the nightstand beside his head.

They got home after four in the morning, a fresh snowfall just starting to stick to the slick city streets. Jisung had been quiet for the whole ride, perched on the edge of sleep. Minho tried not to take it personally when Jisung didn't say anything the entire time, tried not to let it hurt when Jisung got out of the car and went up to his apartment alone, declining Minho's offer to walk him to his door. But it clung to the back of his mind, slowly eating at him as he tossed and turned and finally fell asleep.

Now, the sun shines through his blinds at a slant, and the clock on the wall tells him that it's after noon already. His phone vibrates again, finally dropping off the side of the table and onto the floor, scaring Soonie, who runs out of the bedroom in a white and orange flash. Minho fumbles blindly for his phone, shivering as his blankets slip off, and swipes to answer without looking at the screen.

"Hello?"

"Jesus, finally."

"Jisung?"

"Open up, I'm at your door."

The call ends as abruptly as it started and Minho stares at the screen for a moment, trying to wake up. His head hurts a little and his mouth is dry as he pulls himself out of bed and fishes a pair of pajama pants from his dresser. The apartment is cold, and he hits the thermostat on the way to the door.

"I can't stay," he says as Minho moves out of the way to let him in.

"So you came all the way here and blew up my phone to, what? Chat?" He doesn't miss the way Jisung is avoiding his eyes. He feels a small bubble of panic in his chest. "What's going on?"

"I just needed to talk to you really quick."

"You couldn't call?"

"I thought it would be better face to face, but now you're not wearing a shirt."

"Huh?"

Jisung lets out a long groan, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing a fist to his forehead. "Sorry, I'm a fucking mess right now."

"Can you just talk because you're confusing me and it's starting to freak me out and I literally _just_ woke up."

"Fuck, I'm sorry." Jisung bites his lower lip, eyes wide like he's searching for his next words. "I'm just... I can't do this anymore, this fake relationship. I thought I could but I can't."

There's a loud, tinny ringing in Minho's ears. In his mind, he replays the events from the night before, the kisses under the glowing arches, their fingers laced together. His heart beats a staccato pattern in his chest and he almost reaches up to press his hand against it, to calm it down.

"What? Jisung, I don't understand." He hears how soft his voice sounds.

"Do you hate me?" Jisung's eyes are shiny when he finally looks up and meets Minho's gaze.

"Of course not." He could never hate Jisung. "Are you going to explain?"

"Do I have to?"

Jisung's expression is pained, a prominent vein at his temple, a strain to his eyes. Minho wants to say yes, wants to know what the hell is going on. But at the same time, the idea of Jisung rejecting him makes his vision swim. He knows that's what's coming, and he can tell Jisung doesn't want to do it, doesn't want to have to hurt him.

"Not now," Minho says finally. "But eventually, yeah."

Jisung nods. "Okay, yeah, I can do that. I really am sorry."

"It's okay. They wouldn't have believed us anyway. We may have fooled our friends but they're not too bright, right?"

"Right." Jisung's laugh is fake, just like Minho's.

After Jisung leaves, with a thousand more apologies and a hesitation at the top of the stairwell that makes Minho's heart leap into his throat, Minho closes the door and promptly collapses onto his couch. His cats surround him, Doongie rubbing against his legs, Dori prodding at his hands for ear scratches, Soonie sitting on the arm of the couch beside him. The ringing in his ears is still there, and a dull throb has started behind his eyes.

He tries to go back over the course of the last couple of weeks, tries to pinpoint where he went wrong. What misstep led to this? _Jisung_ was the one who asked to kiss _him._ He drives the heels of his hands into his eyes. He needs to talk this out, but normally Jisung would be one he calls. Jisung is the one who grounds him, who helps him work out the tangled mess of thoughts and feelings in his mind. He wants nothing more than to pick up the phone and call Jisung himself, but what would he say?

He tries to clear his mind with a cup of tea and a hot shower, but none of the restlessness in his muscles eases under the warm spray. He dresses, feeds the cats, and checks his work emails, but the image of Jisung's choked expression still clouds over all his thoughts. He finds his phone, abandoned in his unmade bed, and texts Changbin.

\--

Changbin lives in a brownstone in Brooklyn and it's a trek for Minho, especially in the snow. But it's worth it, the cool air outside and the lull of the subway cars helping to clear his mind. When he gets there, Changbin greets him with a hot pot of coffee and a worried glint in his eye.

"Is everything okay? You seem.. I don't know." His voice trails off as he studies Minho, seating himself on the stool across from him, leaning against the kitchen island.

"I think I'm in love with Jisung," Minho blurts. He can't look Changbin in the eye.

"Well, yeah, I'm pretty sure we've all been over that already."

It takes a moment for Minho to comprehend what Changbin means, before it hits him. "Fuck, I forgot you don't know."

"What don't I know?"

"Jisung and I aren't actually together."

Changbin's eyes bug out of his head and he sits his steaming mug down. "I'm sorry?"

Minho groans, pressing his forehead to the cool quartz counter. His face and neck feel hot as he talks Changbin through everything, the bet with his sister, the kissing, the dates, the competition that was somehow fostered between himself and Jisung. He feels strangely relieved when it's all out in the open, but now that he's said it all out loud, he also feels _stupid._ Changbin's concerned expression wars with the open need to laugh out loud at Minho's plight and Minho wants to cry and possibly hit Changbin at the same time.

"I hate you," Minho complains.

"You definitely don't hate me."

"I don't, but I don't know what to do." He folds his arms and buries his head between his bent elbows. "I'm sure it'll all blow over and everything will be fine but how do _I_ deal with this? With the fact that everyone's jokes ended up being true?"

"I don't understand," Changbin says, and it sounds like he's almost talking to himself.

"What don't you understand?"

"Well, he's the one who pushed so hard for the fake relationship in the first place, he's the one who initiated all the kissing. It doesn't make sense to me."

"Because it was all just a joke to him, and I think he saw how it started to get real for me."

Changbin is quiet for a moment, staring down as he swirls the last drops of his coffee in his mug. 

"It's not a joke to him," he says after a moment. "At least I don't think it is."

"So what do I do?"

"Give it a few days and then talk to him. Get past Christmas."

 _Oh no._ "I'm going to have to tell my family the truth," Minho complains. It's at the bottom of the list of his problems right now, but it's still a problem.

Changbin laughs at him. "This one's your own fault. You're just going to have to 'fess up."

"It'll be humiliating."

"I'm sure it will be but you've done _much_ worse in the time I've known you, so you'll be fine."

Minho glares at him. "I meant it when I said I hated you."

"I know."

Minho sighs, hanging his head in his hands. _Talk to him?_ He has no idea what he'll even say to Jisung after all of this. They've been in a similar situation before, that summer when they were teenagers, teetering a little too close to the edge together but never taking the final leap. Everything went back to normal, but it didn’t feel as serious then as it does now. He's been ignoring it, but Jisung backing out _right_ after the best date of Minho's life makes his head and his heart ache, his stomach turn sour.

"Do you even know what you want, Minho?"

Minho takes a moment to sit with Changbin's words. _Does_ he know what he wants? Truthfully he just wants Jisung to talk to him, and if he thinks harder, maybe he'd like to go back to two weeks ago, before he opened his stupid mouth in that cafe with his mom and Chaerin.

"I don't know," he says.

"Well then maybe you should take this time to figure that out, before you go barreling over to Jisung's house demanding answers from him."

"How did you know?"

"I've known you both forever by now, you're easy to read."

Overhead, the ceiling creaks, the sound of slow footsteps making their way across the floor, followed by the pipes groaning as the shower is turned on. Minho glances at Changbin who has pointedly looked away, the tips of his ears poking red between strands of dark hair.

"Who's that?" Minho asks, fighting the smile breaking free on his face.

"It's no one."

"It's someone. If you don't tell me who I'm going up there." He slides out of his seat for good measure.

"Okay, okay! It's Hyunjin. _Please_ sit down." 

"It's _who?"_

"It's Hyunjin, damn!"

Minho can't hold back his laughter as he gets back up into his chair. "When did that start?"

"The night of the party," Changbin says, begrudgingly. "We left together that night and we were talking about you and Jisung and the next thing I know I'm inviting him in and he hasn't left yet."

Minho feels a tiny, ugly tinge of jealousy at how easily it seemed to have worked for Changbin, wishing something like that could fall into his lap too. But he can't hold onto it. He's watched the two of them orbit each other for a couple of years now, since Felix introduced Hyunjin to their friend group.

"Well, I'm happy for you," he says, meeting Changbin's eyes so he knows Minho's being sincere.

"Thanks. It's new but it also feels like it's a long time coming. We'll see how it goes."

Minho's lifted mood quickly plummets on his way home. After mercilessly teasing both Changbin and Hyunjin, he definitely felt a little better. But the bitter cold outside and the empty apartment he returns to feel lonely. He knows it's stupid, but the silence of his phone hangs heavy on his shoulders too.

He distracts himself with takeout, with writing the instructions for the cat-sitter, with attempting to read a book, and finally, with packing. He doesn't have to leave until tomorrow afternoon, but after sleeping late, he can't seem to get tired, and needs something to fill the time. He packs a bag with sweaters and jeans and a warm pair of hiking boots. It's might be snowy and cold, but he never lets that stop him from exploring the mountains surrounding the cabin.

He remembers the pile of presents already neatly tucked into the back seat of his Jeep, mind stuck on the small stack wrapped especially for Jisung. Now that Jisung isn't coming, there's no point to bringing his presents along. But the thought of trekking back out to retrieve them makes Minho shiver, and he figures they can just stay where they are.

With that depressing note, he decides to head to bed. He hates that he hasn't heard from Jisung all day, he hates that he has to explain to his family that the bet was all based on a lie, and he hates the nervous, stomach-acid feeling he has in his gut. For the first time in his entire life, he's starting to understand why some people hate Christmas.

\---

Minho wakes up on Christmas Eve, and it takes all of his effort to drag himself through the morning. In the back of his mind he had been dreading this day already, anticipating his family's reaction to his and Jisung's charade. But now, faced with the prospect of owning up to his lie _and_ pure radio silence from Jisung, he simply doesn’t want to get out of bed.

After an hour spent staring at his ceiling, he has no choice but to get moving. He’s got a five hour drive ahead of him and despite his foul mood, he really can’t be late for Christmas Eve dinner. After a quick shower, he slips on a soft buffalo plaid sweater and packs up his remaining toiletries. His cats, sensing his imminent departure, whine at his feet, twirling themselves around his ankles as he moves through the apartment.

"I'm sorry, babies, I really do have to go," he says, scooping Dori into his arms. He plants a fat kiss on the bridge of his nose before depositing his back onto the couch.

With one last look around the apartment, the tree glowing cheerily in the corner of the living room, Minho pulls on his coat, slings his bag over his shoulder, and leaves.

The parking garage is under his building, so at least he doesn't have to deal with any of the cold weather and snow as he makes his way to the car. He pulls out his phone to check the driving conditions along the route to the cabin, absent-mindedly making his way to his parking space, mostly on muscle memory. So, distracted, he crashes into the person waiting at the hatch of the Jeep.

"Whoa, are you okay?"

Minho feels two steadying hands holding him up, and then Jisung's face comes into view. "What are you doing here?" He eyes the leather bag dangling from Jisung’s fist.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I should have called.” Jisung pinches the bridge of his nose. “I—I thought about you going to the cabin alone and dealing with your family and I just couldn’t do that to you. No one should have to deal with Chaerin on their own.”

Jisung’s voice is light, a little sly, but his eyes are strained at the corners, betraying the unrest he’s trying to hide. Minho, stunned to silence, isn’t sure what to make of all of this, of Jisung’s miraculous reappearance just in time. He takes a step back, studying Jisung, deciding how to play this. On one hand, the cavalier tone strikes him in his chest, like Jisung is only worried about this… whatever this is between them just to save face. But on the other hand, he _doesn’t_ want to deal with his sister while also trying to parse through what he’s feeling, and he _doesn’t_ want to parse through it on this hours-long road trip he’s about to partake in.

Changbin’s words echo in his head. He needs an explanation, but maybe he doesn’t need it right now.

“So you’re worried about the bet?” He asks, buying time.

“Yeah,” is all Jisung offers in return.

“Well, let’s go.” He clicks the fob on his keys, opening the hatch so they can toss in their bags. “I guess we’ll have to talk about this sometime, but hopefully not now?”

“Definitely not now,” Jisung agrees with an enthusiastic nod.

It’s almost scary how easy it is for Minho to let go and slip back into normalcy next to Jisung. They throw their jackets in the back seat and Minho hands him his phone to take charge of both navigation and the very important decision of which playlists to listen to. Jisung lands on an alt rock Christmas list and before Minho knows it, the city is behind them and they’re belting out the words to _Yule Shoot Your Eye Out_ as they coast along I-87. 

But this only reaffirms everything that’s been pooling and tangling in Minho’s mind. Jisung is his favorite person in the world, the person who almost feels like an extension of himself. He’s a comfort and a soft place to land and he feels like home. With Jisung in the passenger’s seat of his car, snow falling down in white downy tufts, Christmas music playing through the speakers, despite the heavy tension and the rejection, there’s nowhere else Minho would rather be. There’s no one else Minho would rather be with. And the thought both chokes and buoys him.

—-

They stop for food somewhere outside of Albany, along the highway, and conversation moves at their usual clip. Jisung talks about the books he’s been requested to blurb for, wonders aloud if his editor will get back to him with his next round of edits before the new year or if he’ll have to wait. He asks about Yeji and Minho tells him he hasn’t heard anything. They spend a lengthy amount of time gossiping about Hyunjin and Changbin, a development that had Jisung in near hysterics. 

“I knew it! I called it the moment they met. Took them long enough.”

His comment drops a blanket of quiet over them and Minho shifts uncomfortably in his seat. But it doesn’t last long, because a moment later, he’s turning down the gravel drive that will take them to his family’s lake-front lodge.

“I haven’t been here in ages,” Jisung practically whispers, voice full of awe as he cranes his neck to take in the snow-capped Adirondacks surrounding them.

Minho smiles at the memory. The summer between middle school and high school, a week exploring the trails and the water and the boat house. He’d nearly forgotten. 

“Not much has changed,” he says, pulling under the carport next to his father’s Escalade. The other cars piled in tell him he’s the last to arrive. _Great._ All the attention will be on them. Minho stares at the carved front door, the wooden elk staring back at him. He’d been able to block it from his mind for most of the ride, but they’re here now, and he’s faced with the prospect of everything he and Jisung are going to have to do this weekend. Holding hands, and probably kissing, fashioning a whole pretend love story. He remembers the presents wrapped for Jisung in the back seat.

“I can’t do this.”

Jisung reaches over and gives his knee a quick squeeze. “You can. We convinced everyone else, this’ll be easy. And besides, Minseok is here, no one will care about what you’re up to.”

Minho glances around and sure enough, finds his older brother’s Range Rover among the army of vehicles parked outside the cabin. Leave it to his family to make the married lawyer and father of twins the black sheep.

“Come on, let’s go in before they come out and get us,” Jisung says. “It won’t be so bad, just a couple of days and then we can forget all about it. Right?”

 _Right._ As if Minho could so easily forget about their dumb first kiss, about falling asleep in Jisung’s lap to the sounds of his favorite movie playing in the background, about Jisung kissing him under the arch of glowing falling stars. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to go back to normal after all of that, but he grits his teeth, sets his jaw, and nods, stepping out of the car and into the cold. 

They’re greeted by a cacophony of sound and color, the family swarming them before they’ve even got the front door closed behind them. Laden with bags, it’s difficult to return all the hugs, especially to his niece and nephew who each cling to one of his legs. Minho spots his sister at the back of the pack, leaning in the doorway to the living room. Her eyes are suspicious slits as she inspects Minho and Jisung together. 

Next to Minho, Jisung glows like a source of light unto himself. His thousand-watt smile is contagious and spreads to everyone around him. Minho hardly has to talk at all, following Jisung's lead as they drop their things in the entryway and Minho's parents usher them into the dining room where dinner is waiting. They sit beside each other at the long, live edge table. Jisung pulls Minho's chair closer, casually slinging an arm around the back rest like it's something he doesn't have to think about. Minho can feel himself tense and he immediately reaches for the wine.

Thankfully, Jisung's predictions come true and except for Chaerin's obvious staring, most of the night's attention goes to Minseok and his wife, Hyerin. Mostly it's just questions about where he is all of the time since he moved to Cambridge, why he doesn't call home more often, and the other guilt-trips his mom likes to lob at them--the same treatment Minho got when he moved out of the family home, though it was easily curbed by their weekly lunches together.

Minho finished his third--and last--glass of wine. Dinner and dessert have been finished and cleared away, the teenagers sent off the do the dishes, and not without a meaningful laugh thrown directly Chaerin's way. His mother leads a gentle, if needling, line of inquiry at Hyerin's expense and though he's tried to save her, Minho's efforts are thwarted or ignored at every turn. He casts a sympathetic glance in Hyerin's direction before turning his attention back to Jisung.

"But how will Santa know we’re _here_?" asks his niece, Mina.

"Well that's easy," Jisung says, leaning back in his chair. He notices Minho's attention and rests his hand on Minho's thigh, skin warm through the fabric of his slacks. "Tracking device." He says it with all the solemnity in the world and Mina's eyes go wide as saucers.

"But where?" She turns her hands over in front of her, inspecting them.

"Well it's different for everyone," Jisung explains. He leans toward her, brushing his hair off one side of his head to reveal a tiny scar behind his ear that, if prodded, truly feels like a single grain of rice buried under his skin. "This is mine."

"Where's mine?"

"Like I said, it's different on everyone. If it was the same, we'd be able to use that technology to track Santa down, and as you know, Santa is _very_ secretive about his operations. _Too secretive_ if you ask me.”

Mina reaches a single, tiny finger out to poke at Jisung’s scar, gasping and drawing back immediately once she’s determined that it is in fact a tracking device implanted under his skin.

“Look, here’s Minhos.” He takes Minho’s hand, pulling it between himself and Mina to show her yet another scar, this one alone the side of Minho’s middle finger. She doesn’t touch this one, but regards it with wide, knowing eyes. 

“Seokie, Seokie!” Mina’s ringing voice fills the room as she calls for her twin brother, lost somewhere in the labyrinthine lodge. She slides from her chair and in a flash she’s disappears, presumably gone to find hers and Wooseok’s tracking devices. 

With no small child to distract them, it becomes hard to ignore that Jisung is holding Minho’s hand still. Minho expects him to let go right away, but his touch lingers, tracing the fine veins along the back of his hand, following them to the rings on his fingers. Jisung’s skin is soft, glowing warm amber against Minho’s paler fingers. He looks up into Minho’s eyes and offers a soft smile. Unlike the earlier, inflated affection--the arm draped over Minho’s shoulders, the theatrical winks--this small smile seems private and more genuine and makes Minho’s chest feel tight.

The moment is shattered by his mother announcing that it’s getting too late for her old bones to still be seated at the dining room table. It’s her way of telling everyone to get to bed, a phrase she used well before she could be considered anything close to old.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Minho asks, rising from his seat. His muscles ache and a quick glance outside shows him a pitch black night. He has no idea how long they’d all been sitting there. “We can drop our things downstairs real quick and help clean up.”

His mom waves him off. “The girls will take care of it,” she says, and Minho wonders what Chaerin could have done in the last two weeks to garner their mom’s wrath. “And you two will be up in the loft,” she says to Minho and Jisung both.

Minho nearly chokes on air. “But I always stay in the basement.” He’d been counting on it, even, with its _one_ bed and its _several_ couches for Jisung to sprawl on. 

Chaerin snickers from over their mother’s shoulder. “You just don’t want to share a bed with your _fake_ boyfriend,” she laughs.

Minho wishes nothing more than to launch himself over the table and pummel his sister to death.

“Don’t you have a pan to scour?” his mom says, dismissing her. She turns back to Minho. “Minseok and Hyerin are taking the basement this time, since they have the twins. You’ll be fine up there.”

“Don’t you and dad want it?”

“Don’t be silly, you know how your father’s knees are with the stairs. We’ll be fine in the west suite.”

‘The loft’ is a set of three rooms situated over the kitchen, and after dropping their Christmas presents under the tree, Minho leads the way, footsteps leaden on the half-log stairs. A hallway to the right leads to the bathroom and a study, and to the left is the bedroom. But Jisung of course already knows all of this, and follows Minho silently.

Minho hadn’t noticed how exhausted he was until the bed comes into view, made up with grey and white fair isle bedding, a red throw pillow with a stamped image of a white paint deer shining like the cherry on top of a sundae. 

“We can make a wall of pillows, you know, down the middle,” Jisung says, standing in the doorway, staring at the bed they’ll have to share for the weekend.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Minho deadpans. He tosses his duffle bag on top of the comforter. “You’re on the floor.”

For half of a second, Jisung’s eyes blow wide and his mouth tightens to a little _oh._ But then he realizes Minho is joking and a smile breaks out over his face, his cheeks blushing red. “Shut up,” he says weakly, finally breaching the threshold of the room. He sets his bag on the bed as well, unzipping it to dig through for his toiletry bag. “Do you want the bathroom first?”

“No, you go ahead.”

For some reason neither of them can meet the other’s eyes.

While Jisung leaves to wash up and brush his teeth, Minho takes the time to change into a pair of soft blue silk pajama bottoms. He didn’t think to pack the top, believing he’d be sleeping alone. He feels his own cheeks blush furiously, just as Jisung comes back in—appropriately dressed in sweats and t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, the arm openings hanging down past his ribs, showing just enough skin that Minho has to look away. 

“Are you sleeping like that?” Jisung asks, frozen at the foot of the bed.

“Well I _thought_ I was going to be alone… you know this is the second comment you’ve made about my shirt recently.”

Jisung digs through his bag again, finds a crisply folded black t-shirt and tosses it at Minho. “You mean your lack of shirt. Put this on.”

Minho stares at the article of clothing in his hands, taking all the self-control in the world to not ball it his fists and throw it right back. Jisung is so… _confusing_ and that confusion is starting to piss Minho off. The hot and cold—he can’t tell which Jisung is the real one anymore. The one that slips him small, secret smiles over dinner, the one who plans the perfect drive-in movie date, or the one who apparently can’t stand to get too close to Minho or see any of Minho’s _skin_. 

For fuck’s sake, it’s just a shirt. Minho needs to get a grip.

He throws it on, the fabric is worn and soft, the logo of some band that Jisung listens to is fading after years of wear, and it smells just like him. Minho grabs his own toiletry bag now, leaving the room without a word to go scrub the day from his face. He’s tired and it’s making it harder to think.

When he comes back to the bedroom, the lights are off except for a string of white lights hanging around the front window, and Minho reaches down to pull the plug out of the wall. The mountain of pillows has been reduced down to a reasonable few, the extras discarded onto the floor in a haphazard pile. He can still hear the sounds of Chaerin and Eunji laughing, the clanging of pots and pans as they wash them by hand. Jisung lies curled on his side facing away from the door. He doesn’t look up when Minho shuts the door behind him, but Minho can tell he isn’t asleep.

He wonders if Jisung feels the same livewire nerves buzzing through his body that keep Minho on edge. 

Minho sinks into the bed, pulling the blanket over him gently so it doesn’t pull away from Jisung, and tries not to feel ridiculous lying so close to the edge, so far away from the other body beside him. It’s only a full-size mattress but there are at least three feet of empty sheets between them. He holds incredibly still, afraid that even breathing wrong will snap the tight bowstring of tension he can feel stretching across the room. 

He tries to sleep, he really does. But he can’t get comfortable. The mattress is softer than his bed at home, he’s not used to having so many layers on his body, and he is too painfully aware of Jisung. 

Jisung is the one who breaks the silence. He flips over onto his side, facing Minho. Minho’s eyes have adjusted to the darkness by now, after nearly an hour spent staring at the knotty pine ceiling, memorizing the way the moonlight hits the sloped boards. He turns his head to face Jisung, catching the outline of his face in the dark.

“Why can’t you relax?” Jisung asks, his voice a near whisper.

Something about the late hour and the darkness bursts Minho’s heart wide open. He turns on his side, too, facing Jisung, the gap between them much smaller now. “I don’t know how to act anymore,” he says, spilling the truth out in one rushed breath.

“You don’t have to act any certain way.” He scratches a fingernail over a ripple in the sheet between them. 

“You’re confusing.”

“I’m the same as I’ve always been.” There’s something so small about his voice and before Minho knows it, he’s pulling Jisung toward him. 

He’s never been overly affectionate with any of his friends, except maybe when he’s had a bit too much to drink. But he wraps both arms around Jisung anyway and all of the tension in his muscles releases. Jisung is a bit too warm against his chest, breath hot on his neck, and the angle is uncomfortable, but for a moment, he feels better.

But then he feels the unmistakable curl of Jisung’s fingers in the front of his shirt. Jisung’s breath on his neck becomes breath against his lips and before he knows it, their mouths slide together. He knows he shouldn’t give in, not with his head so clouded, not when he doesn’t know what he wants—does he want this to escalate, does he want to go back to normal? He can hardly remember normal now, with Jisung’s tongue slipping into his mouth, the taste of his cinnamon toothpaste overwhelming Minho’s senses.

Minho lets Jisung kiss him for a moment, but then he can’t hold back anymore and he slips a hand upward to tangle in Jisung’s hair and Jisung pulls away. For a moment he doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, and Minho isn’t sure what’s going on, if Jisung is simply catching his breath. Then Jisung _pushes_ away, his voice a hysterical whisper.

“Fuck, Minho, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have.”

Minho’s heart drops from his ribs to his stomach, the tips of his fingers gone cold. It’s his turn to push away, nearly leaping out of the bed to get away from Jisung. What the _fuck_ was that? And if he ‘shouldn’t have’ then why _did_ he? 

“Jisung, I…” but his voice trails off as it breaks around Jisung’s name. “I need air.”

Minho doesn’t exactly storm from the room but he may let the door swing shut a little too roughly, the smack of wood against wood reverberating down the hall. He doesn’t know where he plans to go; it’s not as if he can go outside into the freezing, snowy night. When he was a kid, and he’d get overwhelmed, his usual spot was the bedroom in the often locked west suite, with its gigantic wall of windows overlooking nothing but trees as far as the eye could see. But his parents are sleeping in there, the basement taken by his brother’s family, and as he heads to the top of the stairs, he can hear his sister’s and his cousin’s voices echoing upward.

“I don’t know why you don’t believe it.” Eunji. He pictures them, huddled around the kitchen island, probably sampling some of tomorrow’s desserts, or the cookies purportedly left out for Santa. It’s a long tradition that Minho himself once took part in when he was their age, but the lingering bitterness from Jisung’s mouth clouds over any nostalgia.

“I know my brother,” Chaerin says, because of course they’re talking about him. “And I’ve known Jisung forever. Minho’s been in love with him for _years_ Jiji, but someone is _always_ in love with Jisung and trust me, they are _nothing_ like Minho.”

“That’s not fair, Jisung is a good guy.”

“I didn’t say he was a _bad_ guy, but Minho is so not his type. His type is… I don’t know, edgy, dark, artist types.”

Minho sinks down onto the top step, confusion numbing his extremities like he’s out in a blizzard. _What?_ He doesn’t hear Eunji’s replies or any of the conversation thereafter because his head swims with Chaerin’s words. _Minho’s been in love with him for years._ Has he? And Jisung’s type? Minho can’t deny that Chaerin’s right about that, at least.

Minho looks back, thinking about the many relationships Jisung has had. None of them lasted very long. There was one guy, Jisung’s freshman year of college, and he stayed around for about six months. He remembers with a bitter laugh that he was the one who introduced them. But going through the history, he realizes Chaerin’s right—nothing ever lasts because _Jisung_ ends it. Like no one is ever good enough for him. And Minho thinks he can measure up?

Has Jisung always been like this Minho was just too in love with him to ever notice it?

The kisses in the amusement park, the tentative touches in the dark, Jisung pressing Minho against his front door, sliding his tongue into Minho’s mouth. Maybe Minho is just next on the list of expendable men after twenty years of waiting. It would explain the guilt that dripped from his voice just a moment ago, _I’m sorry._

He doesn’t want to believe it’s true. The swelling ache in his throat starts just before the tears do.

“Haven’t you seen the way he looks at Minho, though?”

Chaerin’s answer is drowned out by the creaking of the bedroom door slowly opening. He hears the quiet slide of Jisung's socked footsteps and then softly, "Min?"

"Yeah?" He tries really, _really_ hard to keep his voice from cracking, wiping the salty tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand.

"Fuck--are you, are you crying?" Jisung lunges forward, stops himself, moves again. Minho can feel Jisung hovering behind him, feel the uncertainty in Jisung's body even without looking at him.

"Please don't worry about it."

"What do you mean? Of course I'm going to worry about it." Rising panic in Jisung's voice.

"I don't need this turned into a joke, too." Minho pauses, noticing the silence from the bottom of the stairs. If he could hear them, Chaerin and Eunji can certainly hear _him_. He rises to his feet, knees cracking. "I'm going to sleep in the study." There's a chaise lounge in there, he'll be fine.

"No." Jisung grabs him by the wrist and the only thing stopping Minho from ripping his arm away is the sincerity on Jisung's face. "At least sleep in the bed and I'll go to the study. But I'd prefer it if you'd just talk to me."

"I don't know what to say, Jisung."

"Come on."

Jisung gives his arm a tug, pulling him back toward the bedroom gently before letting him go. Minho shuts the door behind them, leaning against it. At some point, Jisung must have plugged the fairy lights back in; they cast the room in a warm glow, deep shadows darkening Jisung's face, the hollows under his eyes.

"What did you mean a second ago? Something about a joke?"

Minho lets out the world's longest sigh, squeezing his eyes shut tight. What can he say? What words can he string together into a passable explanation that won't irrevocably change the shape of their friendship once they're said? Because he can't drop the _hey, I'm in love with you_ bomb on his best friend and expect to hold onto the twenty years that led up to this moment. Then again, there's no going back from kissing and then crying on the staircase. Something has to give, and maybe if he treads lightly, they can make it through this with his heart and their friendship intact.

"I want to know what's so bad about me? What would be so bad about dating me? Why is the thought so impossible?" And _shit_ he did not mean to be so vulnerable, but fuck it, this is Jisung. Jisung who's seen him at his _most_ vulnerable, through grief and loss and rejection and insecurity. If he can't be vulnerable with Jisung now, then what was the point of any of that?

"What are you talking about, Min?"

"The idea is laughable to you, isn’t it? Since this started you treated it like a joke. And it only started because Chaerin couldn't possibly believe you'd bring yourself so low as to date someone like me."

Jisung's eyes go wide and he is the picture of confusion. He takes a tentative step closer to Minho but stops halfway through. "Minho, what? What have I ever done that would make you think being with you would be _lowering_ myself?"

"No one's ever good enough for you and I'm _definitely_ not anything like the guys you're interested in." Minho takes a deep breath, pushing himself off the door to pace a few steps. He feels like a complete idiot, and Jisung probably thinks he's gone insane, launching all of this at him from seemingly out of nowhere. "You don't ever keep anyone around very long and I was so stupid for thinking it would be different for me."

"Well you're stupid, but that's not why."

Minho stops in his tracks. "Now is really not the time, Jisung."

"Oh god, I just keep fucking this up more and more." Jisung runs an exasperated hand through his hair. "Please listen to me: the idea of being with you will _never_ be a joke to me and if you really believe I feel that way, that means I've pushed too far in the other direction and I've hurt you and I'm sorry."

Minho's not really sure he's breathing anymore. He feels his mouth fall open but no words come out. He can't put together what Jisung is saying, not really, and so he asks, "What was with all the guys? You date them for a few weeks and discard them when they clearly were good to you."

Jisung laughs, finally completing that step toward Minho. He takes both of Minho's hands in his. Jisung's skin is burning hot where they touch, and Minho leaches the warmth into his icy fingers. "Minho, I... you were right, I didn't keep them around because they _weren't_ good enough, but not like that. Not how you’re thinking. Most of them were great but not a single one of them was _you._ "

Jisung's smile is so bright it hurts Minho to look at it straight on for too long. His words jumble in Minho's mind, too slippery to grab hold of and really _hear._ "I don't understand what's going on," he says, looking down at where their hands meet. His ears are full of static.

"Minho, I have loved you my entire fucking life and I've been too afraid to do anything about it. I ran away the other day because after that night at Six Flags I knew I couldn't go back to hiding it anymore and I didn't want you to see."

"But I love you too." It's surprisingly easy to let the words slip free. "I don't know if it's been _my entire fucking life_ but according to everyone else it's been a long time. I'm sorry."

"I guess we're both just really fucking stupid, huh."

Minho laughs at that, but it comes out more like a choked sob. How could he have missed it? And what did it to to Jisung, what did it _ask_ from him to perform this fake relationship with him? Minho racks his brain, thinking back to every moment shared together since that night over pizza, looks for the hints and wonders how he didn't see it before. The overeager kisses, the thoughtfulness of everything Jisung did for him from welcoming Minho's young family members into his life with open arms to little things like picking out the food that Jisung knows Minho likes best.

"I'm so sorry," he says again. It doesn't feel like enough.

"Don't be. I did it to myself."

"How long?"

Jisung doesn't say anything for a moment, but Minho can wait. He runs his fingers along Jisung's hands, stroking softly. He marvels at them, at the rounded nails and scant hairs along his knuckles, and how has he never noticed Jisung's hands before? He has so much to catch up on.

"That summer," Jisung says.

"Now what?"

"Well, now I'd like for you to start breathing again, and then kiss me, and maybe come back to bed."

Minho laughs out a sigh. Yes, he can do that.

He lets go of Jisung's hands, though he really, _really_ doesn't want to. But the smooth, warm skin along the long, elegant column of Jisung's neck is even better. He thumbs Jisung's jaw, taking a moment to drink in his face. Wide, searching eyes, mouth hanging slightly open, hair disheveled from bed and his own hands. He pulls Jisung closer and gives him what he asked for.

If he thought the kisses under the Christmas lights were the real deal, nothing compares to how it feels now with no barriers left between them. Kissing Jisung feels like letting go. It feels like hearing a favorite song from years ago and remembering all the words. It’s like a dance routine, muscle memory, like reciting a passage from a well-worn paperback, all yellowed and fraying pages, corners weathered to soft curves. He wraps his arms around Jisung's neck, Jisung's hands at his waist, pulls them closer, closer, impossibly closer, as their mouths move together, familiar and brand new all at once.

"Maybe you are the better kisser," Jisung breathes when they finally come up for air.

"Of course I am." Minho shrugs. Laughs when Jisung slaps his shoulder.

"Shut up."

"Mm, no, I don't think I will. You had a _crush_ on me, Jisung. How embarrassing."

"Oh my god, I take it back, I hate you." His laugh is too cute and all Minho wants is to pull him closer and hold on and never, ever let go. Maybe take a bite out of him, but that can wait.

"No you don't. You _love_ me."

Jisung lets out a groan, playfully pushing Minho away. "Let's just go to bed."

This time there is no wide expanse of cotton sea between their bodies. Jisung pushes himself against Minho, filling all his empty spaces, body warm and breath warmer. Minho, always the one to avoid physical affection, especially when he's trying to _sleep,_ finds that he doesn't hate it. He wonders if one day the newness will wear off or if, because it's Jisung, this will always be something he welcomes. He wraps his arms around Jisung again, breathing in the scent of his shampoo.

"We'll have to talk about what all of this means," he says quietly.

"I don't think much will change."

"Well I hope _some_ things change," Minho teases, pulling an embarrassed noise out of Jisung.

"Stop."

"I forgot you can't even handle me shirtless."

" _Please."_

Minho pulls away, brushes the bangs from Jisung's face so he can look into his eyes. "I mean it," he says. "I have so much lost time to make up for, but I want to do it right, which means talking. Really talking."

"I know. I know, I do. But not right now, right?"

"No, not right now. We have to go to sleep or Santa won't come."

Jisung laughs. "I already got the best gift I could ask for."

Minho makes a sound of disgust. "Does this mean I'm going to have to put up with cheesy one-liners for the foreseeable future?"

"You're damn right. But there is _one_ way to shut me up."

Minho presses their lips together for another kiss.

\---

Minho _loves_ Christmas. A fire blazes in the corner fireplace under a mantle decorated with cheerful green garlands and stockings for the kids. A gentle snowfall comes down outside, blanketing the world in even more white. He can hear the faint trickle of jazz music playing underneath the bright peals of his niece and nephew’s laughter as they tear colorful wrapping paper to shreds. The house smells like pine and baking cinnamon rolls, and Jisung’s body is warm, pressed against him as close as they can be, huddled together on the carpeted floor. 

Jisung hands out the presents as quickly as he can, eager hands tearing them from his grip before he can even read the name on the tag. Chaerin rips open a wrapped pair of sunshine yellow dish gloves and throws them at Minho’s head. He crows with laughter before handing her her real present. 

“This one’s for you,” Jisung whispers into his ear, sliding a small rectangular box into his lap. 

Minho paws at the space beneath the tree, looking for the stack tied together with twine, wrapped in simple brown paper stamped with glittering white snowflakes. “And these are yours.”

“You first.”

Minho slides the gold ribbon off the box, his heart racing a little. They’ve exchanged presents for years, since before they were even old enough to buy anything on their own, begging their parents for the money for comics or games or CDs. But everything feels a little heavier and more significant right now. With a deep breath he pulls the lid off, revealing a set of plane tickets. JFK to Seoul.

“I already talked to Irene,” Jisung blurts before Minho can even open his mouth. “She said you can have the time off, she’ll be on vacation then, too…”

“Valentine’s Day,” Minho says, reading the tickets.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I’ve been dying to go back.” He can feel the sting of tears at the edges of his eyes. 

“I know. You bring it up all the time. I saw you looking at the pictures too, last week.”

“It’s perfect.”

Jisung beams. “I told you I could give a better gift than Harry.”

Minho laughs loudly at that, maybe a little too loudly to cover the rising swell of emotion in his chest. He fingers the corners of the tickets, staring down at them, his and Jisung’s names printed in black and white. A solid plan a couple months in the future, something he’s been aching for, but has never been able to find the time to do, not since college. Next to him, Jisung is unstringing twine and lifting the corner of brown wrapping paper and Minho has to hold his breath again, suddenly nervous. 

At that moment, Wooseok crashes into him with a bear hug, followed by his sister, a chorus of tiny thank-yous deafening in his ears. He hugs the kids back, planting kisses on their temples, and they run off with their Star Wars Lego sets and bucket of rubber dinosaurs. 

“You got him his own books?” Chaerin’s voice rings above the din. She sits on the couch, a scowl on her face.

Minho whips his head around to find Jisung sitting in a pile of discarded paper, flipping through the paperbacks in his lap. Every book he's published. Over the last couple months, Minho reread them all again, this time scribbling his thoughts in the margins, notes and underlines and highlights and dog-ears, he walked Jisung through his own stories. Jisung's eyes shine and he doesn't say anything for a while, scanning the pages.

"You did this?" Jisung asks.

"Mhm." Minho's throat is dry and he wrings his hands, waiting for a response.

"Maybe you are a better gifter than me," Jisung jokes, but his words are watery with tears and a genuine, mile-wide heart-shaped smile that takes over his whole face, rounding out his cheeks and squeezing his eyes shut.

"I told you I won this one."

"But if I have you, how can I lose?"

Minho cringes at Jisung's cheesy line, but he grabs Jisung's hand anyway, holding tight. Jisung leans in for a kiss which Minho happily gives him, feeling his cheeks dampen with Jisung's tears.

Best Christmas ever.

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas! come follow me on [twitter where i mostly complain about writing.](http://twitter.com/linosonlyfans)


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